Epiphanies and Ginger Boys
by Virginia Wolfe
Summary: George's bizarre relationship with a muggle university student forces him to re-evaluate everything he knows about life, truth, pain,...and love. Slightly AU. Begins in HPB and moves onward.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing something relating to the world of Harry Potter. I adore Fred and George, and so I felt it necessary to play around with them. I'm obviously taking some liberties with certain events and aspects of the books, but I will do my best to maintain the integrity of the story. However, it should be known that this story does combine elements from both the books and the movies. For the sake of keeping this story at a manageable length, I will be relying heavily on certain aspects of the movies, but the books will not be abandoned. Don't worry!  
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**Chapter One**

_"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."_

_-Fydor Dostoevsky_

Chaotic.

If any number of the customers currently milling around Number 93 Diagon Alley were asked how best to describe the shop's atmosphere, that would be the word most often chosen. The shop was filled well past capacity, and the dull roar was constant. Every couple of seconds, the sounds of whistles and bells, crackles and whizzes, zips and zaps, bonks and pows filled the air. And of course, there was the sound of laughter. But laughter was a necessity at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and it poured out of the windows and doors from the moment they opened to the moment they closed. Fred and George preferred it that way.

While Fred led a group of second year girls towards a fresh batch of love potions, George carefully navigated his way through the tight knit crowd all the while keeping a steady grip on the stack of boxes in his hands. He veered past a family and narrowly missed a rather boisterous group of boys. Breathing a tiny sigh of relief, George continued on his way, but were his eyes not so focused in front of him, he wouldn't have missed the small flash of red hair that seemingly came out of nowhere. In an instant, all of his parcels fell to the ground in a heap. And he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"I am so sorry," a voice called out to him from the floor, and he lowered his eyes. A pair of charming hazel eyes looked back at him as their owner scrambled around frantically trying to pick up the fallen boxes. As George lowered himself to the floor to help, he couldn't help but wonder how he could have possibly missed her. While she seemed to be a little on the short side- George estimated that standing, she would barely reach the bottom of his shoulders- she had a head of the most eye catching red hair that he had ever laid eyes on. It clearly wasn't her natural color, but it jumped out at you none the less. In the time that it took George to reach the floor, he had mentally cataloged at least three different fruits that her hair reminded him of.

'Red apple red? Or cranberry red? Strawberry red. Definitely strawberry red.' But fortunately, she was unaware of his mental meanderings. She was too busy being completely mortified.

"I-I can't believe this. I..." she looked up at him again. "I'm so terribly sorry. Should I pay for these? I'll pay for these." The last bit was more to herself than to him, but he listened all the same. Her heavy Irish accent was pleasingly familiar, and reminded him a bit of the Lovegoods. Although Luna's accent wasn't as thick as her father's, they were still very different from the Weasleys. However, this girl's was a tad bit thicker than Xenophilius or Luna's.

George shook his head as a means of reminding himself that she was probably waiting for him to respond. "It's all right. It was probably my fault. I shouldn't have been carrying so many boxes. I suppose I was sort of asking for it."

But she violently shook her head mussing up her hair even more. "No. This was definitely my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going, and I...couldn't find Declan...and I was...and then you..." She shook her head once again. Between the two of them, the mess was slowly decreasing. George briefly entertained the notion of suggesting to her that he would finish the rest of the clean up, but somehow, he didn't imagine that she would be so easy to convince. He cautiously decided to side step that battle.

"Declan?" he asked as an afterthought.

"My brother," she answered without lifting her eyes to meet him. She did her best to clean the area around her, and he watched as her hands darted to and fro. "He's the sort of kid you can't take your eyes off of for more than a second because he'll run out of the shop just to spite you." She smiled sheepishly at him as she handed him the final box, wearily stood to her feet and turned to walk away. "Thanks for not yelling at..."

Her words came to a crashing halt when she plowed straight into a display of boxes. This time, it was a hundred tiny boxes of product that came tumbling to the floor. And in the midst of the pile was the red head girl.

George's eyes widened, and he stared at her in surprise.

'She's a walking catastrophe,' he thought to himself, and couldn't help but be somewhat amazed at how much damage this tiny woman had done in the two minutes that he had known her. She looked up at him slowly.

"I...I'm..."

Suddenly, Fred's voice echoed far and above the shop's clatter. "George, a little help up front would be lovely." George peered over the heads of the customers, and found Fred scrambling behind the till with his wand pressed firmly against his throat. "We're a bit swamped up here." Beside Fred, Verity worked at a rapid fire pace trying her best to attend to the ever expanding line of customers. George's immediate inclination was to rush forward and offer his assistance, but then he remembered the bungling girl at his feet.

She was doing her best to undo the mess that she had caused, and was stacking the boxes as fast as she could.

"Don't worry about it. I'll tend to it," George offered, and tried to keep his armful of parcels from crashing to the floor as well.

"Please let me help. I just feel awful." She hadn't even bothered to look at him, but he imagined that her pale cheeks were probably tinged red. And although a part of George wanted to accept her help, the other part truly feared what damage she could cause if let to her own devices. What little he knew of this mystery woman seemed to suggest that she was more than a bit accident prone. And with the shop being as cramped as it was, he wasn't sure if he was in a position to risk another...accident.

"No, really. It's my job. Just let me..."

This time, it was Verity's voice that cut him off. "Mister George, your presence is required at the registers immediately." George once again turned to glance at the registers, and was instantly flagged down by both Fred and Verity.

The red head girl looked up at him. "You're George, aren't you?" she asked cautiously. He nodded, and the smile she offered him was apologetic however tiny it was. "You go ahead and take care of...whatever it is you need to take care of. I'll handle this." George opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Really. It's just re-stacking these boxes, right? I can do that just fine. And they seem to really need your help up there." George spared one last glance back at his brother, and his eyes widened a fraction when a stocky young boy attempted to grab Fred from across the counter.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," George offered, and sped off without looking at the girl. She sighed in frustration, and rolled her eyes at her humiliating lack of grace and overabundance of clumsiness. And handling the boxes one by one, she got to work tidying up the awful mess that she had created.

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Forty five minutes. That's how long it took for the madness to die down. That's how long it took for Fred, George, and Verity to effectively handle the line of customers. That's how long it took for George to remember the mess of boxes and the girl that had caused it. After assuring himself that he could finally creep away from the till, he made his way towards the back of the shop. Surely, after forty five minutes, the girl was long gone. Yes, the mess was a bit much, but it had been forty five minutes, and one of the many perks of using magic was that it managed to shave off quite a bit of time when having to perform menial tasks. But when he finally reached the spot that he had left her in, he was shocked to find that she was still there. She was on her feet, and was doing her best to stack the last twenty or so boxes. It didn't help that the boxes were sort of small, and that many of the products had fallen out in the tumble. He regarded her for a moment, and watched as she carefully replaced all of the items back within their appropriate boxes, and gently placed the boxes in the stack. And George couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit guilty.

Finally, he stepped forward, and without a word, got to work next to her. Her face was expressionless as she peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "Again."

George offered her a half smile. "It's all right. Happens all the time." Of course, that was an absolute lie, but it had slipped off his tongue so effortlessly that he felt it best to let it slide.

They fell into an awkward silence. Unfortunately, as George would come to learn, silences (awkward or otherwise) weren't exactly her forte. "So I gather, with you being back here and all, that you took care of everything up front?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "A bit hectic for a while, but it calmed down after a bit."

She nodded as well. And then the awkward silence returned.

George glanced at her quickly. "You know, a quick reversal spell would've taken care of this. You didn't _have_ to pick them all up one by one."

She opened her mouth to respond, but didn't get a chance to. "Yes she did!" George turned around to see a boy of about thirteen watching the pair of them as he gorged himself on a bag of treats. It only took George a moment or two before he realized that this was the very same boy who had tried to grab Fred from over the counter. The boy had commonly plain brown hair, and was slightly stocky. And although he was quite young, George gathered that he was well practiced at sneering at people in the same way that he was currently doing to George and the girl beside him.

"Declan, go wait up front," she said without sparing the boy a glance. But he simply laughed, and popped a few more candies into his mouth.

"Can't do magic," the boy said with his mouth full. George grimaced slightly at the sight. "So yeah, she has to do it by hand, one by one." The boy's accent was thick Irish, just like the girl. And she had still yet to look at him. "And that's why I've been stuck _here_ waiting for her to finish for like two hours!" His voice had begun to raise in irritation, but the girl rolled her eyes with practiced patience.

"It's not been that long, Declan."

"Just shy of an hour," George said, eager to squash the tension.

"See, just shy of an hour. So just calm down, and find something to do. I'm nearly done."

But the boy frowned. "I want to leave now!"

Finally, she turned sharply on her heels, and faced the boy. "Then leave, Declan! Dad's shop is just down the way. I'm sure you can find it on your own." She crossed her arms, and smirked. "Although, I'm not so sure you can find it before being hexed into the next century by any number of strangers who won't be able to stomach your bloody awful attitude!"

At this, the boy stomped his foot in anger, and turned to find something to entertain himself with. But not before muttering "Stupid squib" under his breath. Then he dashed off in fear when she pulled her arm back suddenly, aiming to throw one of the larger boxes at him.

Fortunately, George managed to yank the item out of her hand. She looked up at him in surprise. "It's the Deflagration Deluxe set. A bit pricey if all you're gonna do is toss it at him." He smiled. "Might I suggest the Basic Blaze Box instead. It's a quarter of the price, and its small enough that it'll throw easy, but big enough that it will hit hard."

She laughed quietly for a moment. "Sorry about that. Declan can be a bit..." She fumbled for the right word.

"Hard to take?" George offered as he added three more boxes to the stack.

"I was going to say atrocious, but..." Now, it was George's turn to laugh. Fortunately, amidst all of the ruckus caused by Declan's less than pleasant presence, the two of them had managed to nearly replace all of the parcels to the stack. They were down to the last remaining few.

"Is he your son?" he asked flippantly.

She turned to face him with a look of horror on her face. "If I _could_ use magic, you'd be a pile of ash right now!" Luckily for George, her words didn't hold nearly as much bite as she had hoped they would, and he merely smiled. "He's my brother, and an absolute charmer at that." He nodded, playing along. Two boxes left.

George chose his next words carefully, opened his mouth, closed it back up, and then opened it again. "Is it true?"

One box left.

She glanced up at him as she placed the last box on the top of the display. "Is what true?"

George fumbled for a moment. "What he said about...you. About magic."

She shrugged, not bothered by the question. "Yeah, it's true." She brushed her knees off, and he waited for her to continue. But she didn't.

George's curiosity got the best of him. "But I saw your brother and some of the other kids playing around with..."

"Well, Declan can do magic just fine," she said politely. "And both of my parents are wizards as well. But only my pop's a pure blood. Mum's muggle born." She wandered around a nearby table, and ran her hands over the various items. "I love my Grandfather, but it was more than a bit irritating growing up knowing that the only things that I'd inherited from him were his lack of magical abilities...and double jointed thumbs," she added as an afterthought.

"And what about...Declan, is it?" And then he immediately chastised himself. Since when was it appropriate for him to be prying into the personal lives of customers? He was only too glad that Percy, in all of his pompous big-headedness, was nowhere around to berate George on the merits of professionalism.

But if the young lady was offended, she certainly wasn't letting on. "Declan, yes. Declan got all the good stuff. He's attending Hogwarts, you know." And George nodded his head once. "He's a rotten git, but he really knows his stuff. He's a third year Ravenclaw."

"I've known a couple of good Ravenclaws," he said as a means of making polite conversation. He was however a bit surprised when he realized that he had been mindlessly following her around the back of the shop as she perused the merchandise. And then he watched as she picked up a Patented Daydream Charm, and turned it over to get a closer look at it. "Bit of genius, that is. Thirty minute daydreams guaranteed. And the good kinds of daydreams too. Not the barmy ones that leave you sorely missing the time that you wasted thinking on them." She smirked at the picture of a young couple standing on the deck of a pirate ship. "And it's easy magic too. Anyone can do it and..."

He stopped himself when he realized what he had said, and who he had said it too. And he diverted his eyes, suddenly feeling horribly insensitive and a good deal sheepish. But she just smiled, nodded pleasingly, and put the box back where it belonged. Luckily, it was this moment that Fred decided to make his appearance.

George could hear his brother's voice approaching from the front of the store. "Sorry about dragging you up there, mate. It was like I blinked, and all of a sudden, there was this line of customers all baring fangs and waving their pitchforks. Not to mention this beast of a kid that I had to deal with. I've never before so desired to maim myself to ensure I would never procreate. My condolences to the bleeding hearts that are raising that boy," he said with mock sympathy.

Fred finally made it to where George was standing, and leaned back comfortably against a nearby table. "So I guess that train wreck of a girl you were telling me about is long g..." He choked on his words when the train wreck of a girl in question walked out from behind George. George, in turn, slapped his forehead. And while Fred tried desperately to recover and apologize for his slight slip of the tongue, George couldn't help but smirk at the impish smile on the girl's face. It was a wonder, with her hair being the color that it was, that Fred hadn't managed to notice her. But then again, she had been standing behind George minding her own business, and as George had estimated, she was rather small and barely reached his chest. So she must have been effectively hidden behind his staggering six foot three stature.

Fred continued to fumble his words until the girl laughed outright. "It's all right. I'd like to say that this is the first time someone has used that word to describe me, but it isn't." And her eyebrows furrowed. "And it's likely it won't be the last."

Before either of the twins could respond, someone cut in. "Liv, are you _still_ not done? I bet it just slipped your mind that I was still here waiting for you. You always think about yourself!"

The red head girl turned around to face her brother as Fred casually leaned into George and whispered "It's the beast". The two of them shared a private laugh as they watched Declan's face contort as though he was sucking on a lemon.

Unfortunately, Declan wasn't in the mood to tolerate it. "What are you two staring at?"

"Declan!" his sister chided, but he ignored her.

"Gambol and Japes is way better than this manky place." And if at all possible, his face fell even more. "At least it's not run by a couple of ruddy, nancy boys!" His sister looked absolutely livid, but Fred and George just smirked.

"Did you hear that Fred?"

"Hear what, George? The 'ruddy, nancy boys' bit or the part about the shop being 'manky'?"

"Oh, both."

"Why, yes I did." Declan's eyes began to shift from one Weasley twin to the next, not entirely comfortable with their attitudes.

"Seems we have a bit of a pest problem Fred."

"Seems you're right. Now, how does one best deal with a pest?"

George stroked his chin as if he were in deep thought. "Bat Bogey Hex?" Declan's eyes widened.

"Nah. Too messy. A stretching jinx?" Declan whimpered.

"Yeah, that could work." Then George's face fell. "Oh, but what if it goes out of control and he stretches too much?"

Fred shrugged. "I suppose we could just roll him up like a carpet."

George snapped his fingers. "I got it! We could transfigure him into a dung beetle."

Finally understanding the game, Declan's sister chimed in. "I've got an old shoe box I could keep him in!"

"That's it! We're leaving!" Declan said, his face turning redder and redder by the minute although it was hard to tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment. His sister merely laughed as he grabbed her hand in his and began dragging her towards the front doors. Fred and George simply exchanged a look and shrugged.

While the brother-sister pair made their way towards the exit, the Weasleys watched as Declan turned to sneer at his sister, and said something through gritted teeth. When she refused to respond, Declan smirked in victory, and laughed at her as they both stepped through the front door and back onto the street.

But both George and Fred's eyebrows raised in surprise when, without warning, she shoved Declan hard by the head, and the sniveling boy fell in a heap on the cobblestone street. The Weasley twins stared in bewilderment, and just a tiny bit of twisted amusement.

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Later that same evening...

She paid special attention to the way her feet hit the floor, and did her best to walk as soundlessly as possible as she crept closer towards the living room. Even though it had been years since she moved out of her parents home, the layout of the house was firmly ingrained in her memory, and she was confident that she could maneuver her way through it blind folded. Unfortunately, walking through it blind folded didn't help her to successfully exit the house without passing through the living room that both of her parents were currently lounging in. Making sure that Declan had made it home safe was one thing. Making small talk with her parents was something else entirely. And while she hadn't entirely been in the mood to entertain Declan, she was even less up for awkward conversation with her mother and father.

She peeked into the living room, and frowned. Her father was sitting comfortably in his chair while he tore apart the day's edition of The Daily Prophet. Her mother, on the other hand, was lounging on the couch doing a bit of leisurely reading from what appeared to be a trashy romance novel judging by the scantily clad pirate on the front.

Their one and only daughter pulled her head out of the line of sight, and pressing her back against the wall, she carefully considered her options. She could use Declan to stage some sort of a distraction therefore forcing her parents to vacate the living room. But then she shook her head, realizing that her chances of getting her arrogant little brother to cooperate was about a gazillion to one. She could avoid the door completely, and try to escape the house through the first story in the kitchen above the sink. But she cringed at the memories that idea conjured. The first and only time that she had ever attempted that, she stupidly got her pant leg caught in the faucet, and fell rather ungracefully out of the window. And even though the fall, at most, was only four or five feet, she still managed to fracture her wrist.

She shook her head again. No, the kitchen window would definitely be avoided. Then she brightened. Maybe she could...

"Sweetheart, how did everything go today with Declan?" her mother called out. After clenching her fists unnecessarily, their daughter surrendered her place behind the door, and finally entered the living. She smiled sweetly, but only half felt it.

"With Declan?" she asked. "Oh fine." Better not to offer too many details.

Her father lifted his eyes from the paper. "He mentioned some sort of trouble at the joke shop."

But she snorted. "Yeah? Did he happen to mention that he _was _the trouble at the joke shop?"

Her mother ignored her daughter's heavy sarcasm, and chalked it up to an incessant need for the dramatic. "Well, I do appreciate you watching him today. There was just no way that me or your father could take a day off, and with old Mrs. Kirby catching that awful flu, there was no one else to watch him. So I appreciate you stepping up and being a good big sister." The way she said 'big sister' was positively cringe worthy. And even though she knew it was an absolute fib, her mother added "And I'm sure Declan enjoyed spending time with you!"

"I enjoyed watching her make a total fool out of herself, and knock over an entire display case!" Declan said as he entered the room.

"Declan, mind yourself," their father said, but his words were not at all threatening, and so Declan didn't bother paying attention.

Her mother sighed. "Dear, why is it that you seem to gravitate towards these sorts of mishaps? Honestly, you would think that at your age, you would've managed to outgrow some of that clumsiness."

"It wasn't as though I was intentionally looking for something to knock over. But I was so focused on helping the shop owner pick up all of his parcels after I had knocked them all over, I completely didn't see the display case." After adding that tidbit of information, she realized that what she was saying was in no way helping her to build her argument. She eagerly sought for a way to salvage it. "Besides, it was in a bloody awful spot."

But her father had long since returned to his paper, and had taken to ignoring the conversation completely. Her mother on the other hand was not so easy to dismiss. Unfortunately, now that she had

momentarily abandoned her reading, she picked up some crocheting so that she could work and talk all at once. "I suppose I can't be sore with you. Your Grandfather was clumsy as well. Always bumping into the furniture and tripping on his own feet. I couldn't take him anywhere. And it's the same way with you. Another thing that we can thank him for." Her daughter rolled her eyes as if to say 'I've heard all this before'. "As if it isn't awful enough that he had to pass along his lack of magical abilities, but he also had to give you lack of balance as well. I just don't know what we're..."

"Darling?" her husband called out, and she looked up from her crocheting.

"Where did she go?" she said, taking in the empty living room.

Her husband casually shrugged. "I think she slipped out while you were talking." He returned to his paper.

"Pity." But the word was strangely devoid of sentiment. And so she returned to her book.

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**End note: So what did you think? I know Fred and George probably didn't as in character, but I figured that when they're on the job, they do uphold themselves differently. Don't worry though. We'll see plenty of their typical antics in chapters to come. In the meantime, hit that adorable little button just below, and lemme know what you thought!**

**Chapter two coming soon!**

**-V**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: First off, let me begin by giving major thanks to my first three reviewers: _Whatever Makes You Break, Readerfreak10, _and _nonicasweet_! Thank you so much for taking the time to review what you read, and for giving me such wonderful feedback! I was beyond excited to get those review alerts. So keep em coming! :) In other news, I failed to mention it in chapter one, but I figure it needs to be said sooner rather than later. I'll be trying to keep to a strict schedule of updating once a week. I'm shooting for Saturday evening/ Sunday afternoon. So be on the look out for that!**

**Now, on with the show!**

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**Chapter Two**

_"Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?" _-Walt Whitman

Two weeks later...

When George first caught a glimpse of her signature red hair stepping through the door of the shop with her brother in tow, he hesitated to greet her. Perhaps it was the fact that her little brother had strolled in behind her, and Declan effectively discouraged any and all conversation with her. Perhaps it was because George reasoned that if he avoided her, he could help to prevent another series of 'accidents'. But somehow, he knew the real reasons that he was so quick to distance himself from her. It had alarmed him that he had been so forthcoming and so quick to prod into her personal life without knowing a smidgen about her. She was an absolute stranger, but she had been an absolute stranger in whose life he had taken a sudden interest in. He knew himself well enough to know that he wasn't beyond reason. It wasn't as though he had fallen for the mysterious girl with the strawberry red hair. Not at all. But he wasn't entirely interested in finding out how easily he would allow himself to drop his guard when around her.

It wasn't that he was overly cautious. But he also wasn't recklessly foolhardy either. He didn't run from trouble when it sought him out, but he wasn't stupid enough to go looking for it. Then again, he was a businessman. Professional. Unflappable. And good business demanded that, as the co-owner of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_, George do his best to make nice with his customers. After all, it had been a few weeks since her first visit and their first meeting.

Smiling politely, he neared the girl who was busy poking her fingers through the bars of a pygmy puff cage. The tiny purple puff ball was squeaking excitedly as it rubbed its fur against her fingers, and she laughed.

"Hello again," George said kindly. She turned to face him, and grinned in return. "They're quite popular." And he gestured to the cage.

"I can see why. They're fantastic!" Her words were obviously directed at him, but she was still focused on the pygmy puff. George withdrew a small treat from his breast pocket, and offered it to her without a word. She smiled at him, deducing what the treat was for, and held it through the cage bars. The purple puff emitted a high pitch squeal as it devoured the treat in a matter of seconds.

"So what brings you here today?" George asked politely as he walked over to a nearby table and straightened out a number of cluttered items. He knew without glancing back to confirm his suspicions that she was following behind him.

"Declan actually. His birthday was two days ago, and so he insisted on spending his birthday money here in the Alley. Unfortunately, mum and dad couldn't get off of work to take him, so..."

"So you were given the distinct pleasure of escorting him?" George said with a smirk.

"More like trailing around after him. We've been in the Alley for..." She glanced at her watch. "Exactly 53 minutes. We stopped by the _Owl Emporium_ to pick up some treats for his owl. We visited _Florean's_ for some ice cream."

"Did you make him pay?" George asked jokingly.

"Naturally." And he grinned. "He wanted to buy wares off of four or five street vendors. I didn't think it was entirely wise, but watching him attempt to haggle over prices was highly entertaining. So I'd no choice but to let him." She picked up a _Headless Hat_, and George frowned when neither her head nor the hat became invisible. While a great deal of the Weasley products didn't require spells or incantations, most of them did require magical abilities on the part of the user. However, she didn't seem to notice that the hat wasn't doing what was intended, and instead turned around to face her reflection in a nearby mirror. The mirror itself was a bit of a gag as it was supposed to age the reflection by doubling the user's age. But for her, it was only a plain reflection that smiled back at her.

And he couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for her. In all his years, he still found himself entranced by certain types of beautiful magic, and he was a well practiced wizard. He couldn't imagine what the wizarding world looked like to a person who couldn't touch a bit of it. But somehow, she didn't seem bothered by her ordinary reflection. In fact, she seemed rather pleased by the derby style hat. After a few moments, she returned the hat to its proper place.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the quiet that had settled between them, George scrambled for something to say. "So where are you two heading to after this?" And he moved past her to continue straightening things out.

"Oh, we'll probably have to stop in at _Flourish and Blotts_. My mum will be wanting to check up on Declan."

George regarded her for a quick moment. "So your mother works there?"

"Yeah. Has been for quite some time. She's a big reader...although most of the books she reads are a tad questionable, and I wouldn't be quick to award them any sort of literary merit." George nodded. He was slightly intrigued, but not enough to prod her about these 'questionable' books.

"Does your father work in the Alley as well?"

"Oh yeah. He's the manager at _Terror Tours _just down the way. Right next door to _Madame Malkin's_?"

"Yeah, I know the place," George said although he took notice of the fact that she was very familiar with the Alley for a muggle.

She smirked up at him. "Half off on the Ghost Ship tour if you act now."

But George smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Not really looking for a tour of a ghost ship. Thanks all the same." She mirrored his shrug. "So if you weren't here taking care of our brother, what would you be doing today?" he asked to be friendly. But then, he felt it. The prick in his conscience. He was doing it again. Acting much too familiar with her than their barely there relationship called for.

"Honestly, probably not a whole lot. Definitely nothing productive. University is out for the summer holiday, so I've a bit more free time than I do typically. But once the fall swings back around, that'll change." George nodded as if he understand what she meant by 'university', but in truth, he had no idea. He recalled his father mention it once or twice. And perhaps Hermione had talked about it in passing. He equated it to be some sort of muggle school, but he was at a loss beyond that. Still, he felt it would disrupt the flow of conversation if he pointed it out. In addition, he was a bit loathe to highlight any more differences between the two of them. The wizard-squib dynamic was already obvious enough without him dragging it up again.

She waved at Declan, and mouthed 'Five more minutes'. When he responded in turn by sticking his tongue out at her, she rolled her eyes causing George to laugh quietly.

"So aside from the obvious," she said, gesturing to Fred who was nearby talking up the perks of _Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder_ to a couple of students. "Do _you_ have any other siblings?"

George smirked. "Five brothers and one sister." Her jaw dropped a bit ungracefully before she recovered.

"Well, if they're anything like Declan, my condolences."

"They aren't," he said fondly. "We were a bit of a handful for my mom, but other than that, the lot of us are pretty tightly knit." He paused for a moment as his thoughts drifted to Percy, and he fought a frown.

She nodded. "Must be nice." She stopped, and then looked as though she wanted to say more. But at the last minute, she decided against it. "So your brothers all wizards?" He nodded. "And your sister is a witch?" Again, he nodded. A dash of envy crossed over her features for half a second, but George was too preoccupied to notice.

"It's good that you all have that much in common. With Declan being well stocked in magical abilities and me...not, there's sort of this huge gap between the two of us that is sort of hard to cross, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I know." Once again, his thoughts drifted to Percy.

"I think that if I could do magic, then maybe..." she paused to consider her words. "You know, when I was younger, I read all sorts of books about Houdini. I thought that if I couldn't attend _Hogwarts_ like my parents did, and perform spells and charms like they could, then I would find some other way around it."

"What's a Houdini?"

She laughed. "Houdini wasn't a what. He was a who. A magician- well, a muggle magician anyway. But he didn't use magic. It was all illusions and tricks. But he was a bloody genius. A real escape artist. He'd wrap himself in chains, suspend himself upside down in a tank of water, and break out without a bit of trouble. And not a scrap o' magic," she said again as if to make her point. Although George couldn't fathom why a muggle would voluntarily submerge himself in water while chained, he was fascinated none the less. "And for the longest time, I was obsessed with card tricks, and breaking out of my trick handcuffs."

"He sounds wicked."

She nodded in reply, but then couldn't help feeling slightly embarrassed. Harry Houdini? How in the blazes had she managed to veer their discourse there?

She struggled a bit with what to say next when she blurted out "I have a really cool biography on him if you'd like to borrow it. It details a lot of his tricks, and has some great pictures." Once the words had slipped past her lips, she immediately fought the urge to slap her forehead? 'Really Livie?' she thought to herself. 'Salvage this piss poor conversation by offering him a dorky book? Well done.'

"Sure," he replied politely. He wasn't at all interested in skimming through a book about a man he was essentially clueless about, but it seemed rude to turn down her offer. George listened intently, and then snapped his fingers. Without asking for her permission, he steered her away to a nearby section, and she complied. When they finally stopped moving, she looked up at him curiously, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat. He gestured dramatically to a small display table. When his point failed to dawn on her, he sighed. "Muggle magic tricks!" He picked up two or three products. "See? We mostly set them up for people like my dad who are a bit obsessed with muggle artifacts. But you don't need magic to be able to do them!" He dumped the products in her arms. "Now you're well on your way to becoming even better than that Houdini fellow."

He grabbed the derby style _Headless Hat_ that she had been admiring, and placed it atop of her head. "Presenting," he said, much like an announcer would. "The Great..."

And he stopped only to mutter "Blimey" after a quick moment or two. "I just realized that I've no idea what your name is." He laughed, and she responded with a chuckle of her own. "Seems a bit silly considering this is the second time that we've found ourselves having a rather respectable conversation." He extended his hand. "I'm George. George Weasley."

She slipped her hand into his, and couldn't help but notice how his hand seemed to dwarf hers. "Livia Daly."

"Livia Daly," George said quietly, testing it out on his lips. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she said with a smirk. "So what else would you suggest for a magically disinclined person like myself?" she said jokingly.

He didn't miss a beat. "Well, any of assorted trick treats. The thing with most of our products is that they rely on the magical abilities of the person using them. But with these babies," he said, walking over to the boxes of _Nosebleed Nougats, Fever Fudge_, and other such items. "The candies rely on the magic in the person _eating_ them."

Her eyes took in all of the seemingly delicious candies in front of her. "Did you and your brother come up with all of these yourselves?"

He smiled proudly. "Course we did. Would be a black mark on our names if the Weasleys' products weren't created by the Weasleys. We may be business minded and therefore cutthroat when need be, but we have our honor to consider," he said, his voice filled with sarcasm, and she laughed. "And they're quite genius, I assure you." He had absolutely not problem raving about his and Fred's creations. After all, they had certainly put in the time and energy creating them. He had earned the right to boast. He picked up a box of _Canary Creams._ "These transfigure the user into a canary. But the effects only last a few moments before the feathers start falling off. Still, pretty entertaining. You can imagine how much of a chore _that_ one was to perfect." She raised her eyebrows in amusement.

He picked up another small box. "_Puking Pastilles_. The white one causes the user to start vomiting while the brown one reverses the effects." He wiggled his eyebrows. "One of our top sellers. And to think, we almost had to nix the whole idea of _Puking Pastilles_ in the very beginning."

"Why?" she asked, legitimately curious while she inspected the fine print on the bottom of the box.

George shrugged. "Turns out its quite the task forcing one of these down somebody's throat while they're busy violently throwing up all over." Livia grimaced. "But we finally figured it out after a good bit of beta testing, courtesy of our brave fellow Gryffindors."

Livia picked up a small candy that was individually wrapped in gold plastic. "What about these?"

And George grinned. "_Edible Death Marks_." She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Don't worry. They won't kill you. Just make you terribly sick. It wears off after a few hours, but its a miserable few hours." She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off.

"Liv!"

They both turned to face Declan who was shouting at her from the opposite end of the shop. "I want to run by _Quality Quidditch_ before we stop and see mum!" His voice was only slightly annoying to all of the other customers.

"Declan, you won't be able to afford anything there," Livia responded, trying her best to keep her voice down to a minimum. "You've spent most of your money."

"I want to go!" he shouted, not at all concerned with her statement about his lack of funds. "Quit flirting, and let's go!" He high-fived a couple of nearby school mates, and laughed loudly.

George peeked at Livia from the corner of his eye, and smirked. At the very least, her hair wasn't the only thing that was bright red anymore. Her cheeks were tinged to match.

She turned to face him. "_Edible Death Marks_, huh? Sounds well and good. I think I'll take three."

George laughed and after a moment, she couldn't help but join in. "But seriously," she said after she had quieted her laugh. "I'd like three, please."

* * *

Later that Evening...

As much as Molly Weasley adored having her children home for supper, she detested the inevitable mess afterwards. However, all throughout the wizarding world, the tides were turning, and even the wind seemed to whisper of the dark days ahead. And so she gladly endured with the hassles of dirty dishes if it meant having her children near her. Or as many as could be near her. Bill and Charlie were regrettably detained by their jobs, and Percy was...well, she preferred not to dwell on her third oldest. Not until the cover of nightfall when everyone at the Burrow was fast asleep, and she could carelessly sob into her pillows. If Arthur knew how often she cried herself to sleep, he didn't let on.

That particular evening, Molly was pleased to see not only Ginny and Ron at her dinner table, but Fred and George as well. The twins had come home to see Ginny and Ron off before they set off for another year of school. A part of her was still the tiniest bit disappointed that the twins had decided against completing their schooling in favor of opening their shop. But she had slowly come to terms with the fact that George and Fred had never been the first to conform, and would most likely never be. And a part of her adored them for that.

As conversations shifted from the new school year to the end of the summer holiday, Arthur offhandedly asked if the shop was being kept busy by all of the students doing their back to school shopping. The boys answered affirmatively, and offered their dinner companions a picture of what their typical days consisted of.

And then Fred turned quickly to face George having recalled something that he had meant to bring up sooner. "That girl was there today, wasn't she?"

"What girl?" George questioned. At the mention of a girl, Molly immediately perked up, and Ginny smiled. Their mother was nothing if not predictable.

"Yes, Fred. What girl?" she asked innocently while she pretended to be occupied with her chicken.

Fred continued. "The ginger. The red head girl with two left feet and the hellcat for a brother."

Before George had a chance to respond, Ron cut in. "The ginger Fred? Look at the pot calling the kettle black. You do realize that your entire family is made up of red heads?" And he laughed.

"Well, there's ginger, and then there's this girl!" Fred remarked with a nod. And although George failed to agree aloud, he couldn't help but admit to himself that Fred was right. Her hair was impossibly red. But somehow, it was rather fitting.

"That red, then?" Ginny asked as she sipped her water.

"Redder then red," Fred responded with a smirk. "Looks like a batch of strawberries spit up on the top of her head." Ron laughed at the image, but Molly seemed less than pleased.

"Fred, I won't have you back biting at my table! I don't care if she's here or not." And then she went back to chicken.

George chose that moment to enter the conversation. "Yeah, she was there. Apparently, her brother had a bit of birthday money to spend, so she was taking him around the alley. Said both her parents work in the Alley."

"Do you know this girl?" Ron asked, his mouth full of potatoes. Ginny rolled her eyes at the sight of him.

George shook his head. "No, not really. She came in a few weeks back, and...caused a bit of a stir."

Fred laughed. "A bit of a stir? You looked about ready to toss her out on the street if she knocked one more thing to the floor."

"It wasn't that bad," George argued, suddenly feeling the need to clarify on her behalf. "She bumped into me, and then bumped into a display case. It took a while to get everything cleaned and sorted, but she stuck around to help."

"Like I said," Fred stated with a smirk. "Two left feet." And then he added as an afterthought, "You'd like her Ron." But Ron just glared at him.

"She's a _Hogwarts_ student then? What house is she?" Ginny asked politely.

"Oh, no. She isn't a student. She isn't a witch." George watched as confusion seemed to settle on various members of his family.

"I thought you said both of her parents work in the Alley," Molly said, quick to notice the story's discrepancies, but George simply nodded.

"They do. Her dad's the wizard who manages the _Terror Tours_, and her mum is a witch over at _Flourish and Blotts_."

Arthur's eyes widened in excitement. "She's a squib?" George nodded. "That's rare, that is. Once in a while, you'll get a muggle born witch or wizard who is raised by muggle parents. Like our Hermione. But it's few and far between when you get a muggle raised by wizard parents, having not inherited any magical abilities. Very interesting!" he mused, saying the last bit more to himself than to his party.

"Yeah, well, she definitely has no magical ability to speak of, and she's very familiar with the muggle world. She was talking a good bit about some muggle magician who would wrap himself up in chains, lower himself into a tank of water, and try to escape from it. For entertainment, I gather."

Once again, Arthur's eyes widened, and he smiled like a school boy. "Houdini?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Fascinating," said the head of the Weasley family. After a moment of staring whimsically at nothing in particular, Arthur snapped to attention. "I'd like to meet this girl. I bet she has a fountain of knowledge about the muggle world, but with such a rare perspective as she's got, it would be an absolute travesty not to speak with her."

Fred smirked at George's obvious discomfort with the idea. "Well, I don't know if she'll ever be back. I barely got her name today, and I've no idea where she lives so I couldn't owl her. And she seems rather young."

"You don't know know how old she is?" Ginny asked, curious about this mystery red head, but not at all curious for the same reasons that Arthur was.

George shook his head. "But she did mention that she was on her summer holiday from university. I don't know if that means anything."

Arthur nodded. "Muggles typically start attending university around eighteen. And if she's currently on holiday, then she's probably at least nineteen. Maybe even older than that. That could put her right about your age," he said, gesturing to Fred and George as he swallowed a mouthful of vegetables. "George, you keep an eye out for that girl. I would very much like to meet her."

George nodded his head, but he was hardly enthusiastic about it. Something about his father's request rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn't looking for an opportunity to delve any further into her life. And without trying to sound completely rude, he wasn't looking for a reason to pull her any further into his. He was more than content to keep his relationship with Livia that of a shop owner and customer. He dared a glance at his mother, and inwardly cringed at the twinkle in her eyes. He knew that twinkle. He took special care to avoid that twinkle.

But he very well couldn't disregard his father's very specific request. In all of his years of trouble making (purposeful or otherwise), George had never resolved to be the sort of person who completely dismissed his parents or their wishes. It simply wasn't in him. And so he relented. "Sure. I'll make sure to watch for her. She mentioned letting me borrow a book on the muggle magician if I was interested, so maybe she'll be back. I tend to doubt it, but who knows." And he hoped that his answer satisfied all the parties involved.

Arthur, on the other hand, lit up like a tree on a Christmas morning. "A muggle book on a muggle magician? Wouldn't that be something?"

* * *

**End Note: So chapter two is over and done with, and chapter three is well on its way. What did you think? Are the interactions feeling authentic? Obviously, you're aware of the fact that the story is a romance, but I'm not interested in writing a story where the characters' eyes meet from across a crowded room. And suddenly, BAM, they're in love and defying all sorts of odds. It doesn't seem realistic, and I want the story to feel realistic. Let me know what you're thinking!**

**Chapter three should be up soon!**

**-V**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The characters of _Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: So here is chapter three. I know that it seems like the story is taking its sweet time in getting somewhere, but I really want to establish the characters before I toss them into wonderful/troubling circumstances. **

**In related news...A HUGE THANKS goes out to my three reviewers for chapter three: _nonicasweet, Whatever Makes You Break, _and _JillianFofillian._ You all had such great things to say! And I hope I got back to all of you privately! But I also wanted to recognize you here! This chapter is dedicated to the three of you!**

**So without further delay, on with the show...**

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* * *

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**Chapter Three**

_"If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, you'll probably never do much of anything."_

-Win Borden

One week later...Sometime in May

Livia listened as the familiar _ding_ from the door signaled her entrance. However, the chime quickly faded against the constant stream of noise that floated in the air. While she had only visited Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes two times in her entire life, she had come to assume that the shop always sounded like that. Loud. Full of laughter. The occasional explosion. The clicks and whistles from the products themselves. The shouts and cheers from the shop's customers. And while the shop didn't have anything to offer her that she hadn't already seen in the course of her last two visits, she still felt compelled to drink in the sight, the colors, the lights, the sheer wonder of it all. And while she would never be quick to label herself an 'adult' in the strictest sense of the word, the shop made her feel very much like a child.

And she appreciated the feeling.

It took her all of sixteen seconds to spot the token ginger hair of the Weasley clan, and made her way towards him. And she did it without a single stumble, and without knocking a single item to the floor. Quite the feat considering the shop was filled with bodies as usual.

"Hello George," she said, her voice and Irish lilt drawing him out of whatever train of thought he was in. He turned to look at her, and regarded her for a long moment.

After the moment had passed, he perked up, and replied with a polite "Hello there". She rather felt like the smirk he was currently sporting seemed a bit out of character for him, but reasoned that she had no idea what she was thinking having taken into consideration the fact that she had only talked to him twice. And both times, it was only briefly. She shook the curious thought from her mind, and turned back to him.

"So what are you doing?" she asked interestedly. He turned back to the stack in front of him, and gestured to the clipboard in him hand.

"Taking inventory. Since Fred and I make most of the products ourselves, it's imperative that we keep precise records regarding the product on the floor. If something is low and seems to be selling well, it becomes a priority. If we're making too much of another thing and it doesn't seem to be selling as well as we thought, we deal with that accordingly." His voice was strong and confident while he talked about the products that were his and his brother's brain children, and she respected him for that.

Unfortunately, she had very little to say by way of response, and so she cleared her throat. "Well, I brought you the book." And she extended it to him. He gazed at the cover momentarily, and quickly did his best to clear his expression of any and all confusion. However, he failed to do it quickly enough, and her eyebrow raised in question.

Then he snapped his finger. "I remember now. The book. The book you and I talked about. About the magician. Right!" He took the book from her hand, and made a show of skimming through the pages. "Looks fascinating. Thank you for bringing it!" He glanced up at her, and smirked. She smiled back, but felt the tiniest bit of doubt creep in when she did it. Livia squashed it immediately, and chided herself for eating at _Ma Flannery's_ again even though she had already experienced food poisoning twice as a result of their cooking. Yes. Whatever she was feeling had to be from the Eccles Cakes she had eaten just shy of an hour earlier.

But her attention was quickly arrested when he crossed his arms over his chest in a way that seemed a bit more than smug, and grinned at her. "So what do you think of my eyes?"

Her own eyes widened in response, and she could feel her cheeks burning under the heat of his stare. "I...I beg your pardon?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

If at all possible, his grin deepened. "My eyes. What do you think of them?" He batted his eyelashes in an obviously feminine way, and laughed. However, she felt disinclined to laugh with him.

"I don't...know," she answered, feeling completely in over her head. "They're...hazel?"

And he nodded. "Hazel in a way that makes your knees knock together?" At this, her eyebrows furrowed. She glanced around her to make sure that nothing else seemed entirely out of place. When she found nothing of the sort, she sighed and ruled out the possibility that she was currently dreaming. He was obviously pulling her leg, and as was only natural, she hated being made a fool. She felt her cheeks get hot again, but this time, it wasn't out of shame or embarrassment.

No. It was out of anger. Typical Irish anger.

Her striking green eyes caught his, and she opened her mouth, quite willing to give the wizard a piece of her mind. However, she was cut off almost immediately.

"Fred, I wanted to see if..." George stopped in his tracks when he descended the stairs only to find Fred and Livia in a rather heated staring contest. But Livia looked angry as a banshee while Fred looked more than a bit pleased with himself. "What's going on here?" he asked.

Fred and Livia both turned to face him, and she shook her head. "Wait," she muttered, and then pointed her finger at the man she had just been talking to. "But I thought...you're..." And it all became clear. Nauseatingly clear. Livia grimaced. She turned on her heels to face the real George, and smiled as forced a smile as she could muster. "You're not Fred, are you?"

George shook his head in obvious confusion. Fred, however, simply laughed. "That's because I am, love!" And he threw his arms around her shoulders comfortably causing her to glare at him in return. But then she reviewed the events that had led to her being to duped, and realized, with a bit of self-loathing, that it all boiled down to being her fault. She had immediately noticed that something was amiss, and yet, she failed to follow her gut instinct. Even though the prank was harmless, she had willingly walked right into it.

She glanced up at Fred whose arm was still snug around her shoulders. "And the question about your eyes?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Just trying to ascertain a bit of truth, that's all." His voice was playful in its mock seriousness.

Livia felt her own lips pull into a fitting smirk. "Well, I forgot to mention that they're a tad bit crossed, and far too close together," she said with a sudden confidence that betrayed her short stature. Fred laughed aloud, and handed her the book without a fuss.

"Yeah, she's all right," he said with a grin that didn't contain a hint of a smirk. No sarcasm. Just a friendly observation. And Livia felt strangely proud for having passed whatever twisted test this was. Fred passed his clipboard on to George. "I finished the numbers for this whole section," he said, answering George's initial question. He tipped his head respectfully, and then walked off to tend to some nearby customers.

After a moment, George turned back to face Livia, his expression still painted confused. "Do I even want to know?" he asked. But she just shook her head. When the ever familiar awkward silence settled between them, her mind raced for ways to escape it. And when she finally spoke, George found that he too was grateful for an end to the stilted quiet. Ever since the conversation regarding Livia that had occurred during dinner, George found himself anticipating her visit. He had hoped to feel more or less apathetic about it, but as it had been a week since her last visit, he had had plenty of time to think about her. Not that he was _thinking_ about her. Not at all. Mostly, he had been looking forward to getting his hands on the book. For Arthur, of course.

However, a part of him doubted that she even recalled her offer once she had removed herself from the shop. They weren't exactly friends. They were barely acquaintances. Clearly, she had offered the book without thinking, and he had acted a bit rashly in mentioning it to his father in the first place.

But he was, as he would soon enough become accustomed to in regards to her, wrong.

"Here," she said, handing George the book in question, and he immediately perked up as he read the title aloud. She noted that he was obviously surprised when she handed the book to him, and smirked. He obviously hadn't believed that she would bring it. And the fact that he was a bit caught off guard by her actually coming through with the book made her feel a bit better about being a complete idiot, and offering it to begin with.

And then suddenly, George frowned. "Well, I feel like a right git. I don't have anything for you to take home." The words had spilled from his lips before he had an opportunity to rein them in, and he wasn't entirely sure where they had come from. Why did he care if he had something to offer in return? She hardly seemed like the type that would hold it against him. Finally, he reasoned that it had all to do with common courtesy, and his need to exhibit politeness. However, a tiny piece of him, the piece that lay dormant in the very recesses of his mind, couldn't help but wonder if he had said those words to ensure that she leave with something of his as well.

She brushed off his concern. "No need. I don't need to..."

"Nonsense," George said, and turned around to walk back up the stairs. "Let's see if we can't find a book that you can borrow. It's only fair." And he made it to the top of the steps before realizing that had yet to follow him.

She watched him apprehensively. "And what's up the stairs?"

"Our office," he stated. "Well, our flat. We really don't have the room for an office just yet. So we had to settle for one of the spare rooms in our apartment. But it's more than enough for now. Come on then!" When she began the trek up the stairs, he turned around, and proceeded to unlock the door. By the time he had successfully unlocked all three locks, lowered the security ward, and kicked the door so it wouldn't stick, they entered the flat.

As soon as he muttered the appropriate spell and the room lit up, her eyes immediately began to search the room in interest. She had only ever known a handful of wizards and witches, excluding her parents and Declan, and she had never had to opportunity to venture into a home belonging to one. She had expected a wizard's home to pour magic from the very ceiling, for the furniture to dance of its own accord, and the dishes being scrubbed clean by talking mice. Unfortunately, she found herself to be a mite bit disappointed as Fred and George's flat appeared to be perfectly ordinary.

He set his papers down on an ordinary wooden table, and set his jacket on an ordinary chair. He gestured for her to follow him to a small bookshelf, and she did without a word.

"Pick one," he said simply, and then turned back into the kitchen to fix himself a drink. While he did so, she grazed her fingers over the spines of the books, and pulled one out. It seemed interesting enough. However, when she opened the book, she would never have suspected that it would sprout teeth and begin viciously snapping at her. She had very little time to formulate any sort of thought when George rushed at her, and snatched the book out of her shaking hands, slamming it shut as he did it.

"Not that one," he said, and smiled apologetically. She watched him with wide eyes before looking back at the bookshelf guardedly. When she shook her head slowly after being told to pick another book, he laughed aloud, and decided instead to find one for her. He withdrew a book off the top shelf. "Do you like Quidditch?"

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, and said: "I suppose I don't now enough to about it to feel any sort of way. My parents have mentioned it once or twice, but I've no idea how it's played." She watched as a look of horror spread across his features. "I've heard it's...a big deal, though."

He blinked furiously. "You mean to say that you've never been to a Quidditch match?" She shook her head again. "Ever?" She had a feeling that his question had more to do with his shock, and less to do with his not hearing her answer. So she didn't bother to respond. George expelled a loaded sigh. "That won't do. That won't do at all." He thrust the book into her hands.

Her eyes skimmed over the title. _Quidditch Through the Ages._ It seemed harmless enough, but she couldn't help but wince when she opened the book for fear that it too would try to tear her limbs apart. When it showed no signs of aggression, she calmed a bit, and began to skim over the pages. She stopped to inspect a number of the pictures, but failed to find one that arrested her interest.

"What do you think?" George asked excitedly, rocking back and forth on his heels while his hands sat buried in his pockets.

She looked up at him, and shrugged. "So they just fly after the ball?" Her tone was so unaffected that George rolled his eyes. He snatched the book back from her, and pointed to the different pictures as he did his best to explain the game.

"No, they don't _just fly_ after the ball. There are posts, and different kinds of balls, and all sorts of players, and dirty tricks, and brooms that fly so fast that they'll make your eyes water just from watching em'!" She tried not to look as unconvinced as she felt. "I've never met a person who didn't like Quidditch." He stopped, and scratched his head for a moment. "Come to think of it, I don't know if I've ever met a person who didn't _love_ Quidditch."

But she was nothing if not staunchly resolute, and simply said: "I like to think I'm a little outside the box."

However, all she accomplished in making that particular remark was confuse the daylights out of him. "Box? What box?"

"Um...just forget it," she said, immediately chiding herself for her muggle muck-up.

But he did just that, and it was quickly forgotten. "Well, do me the honor of being the one who introduces you to the single greatest semi-contact sport on the planet!" He opened the book to the chapter on leagues and popular teams, and pointed to a group of players adorned in bright orange. "The _Chudley Cannons._ My personal favorite. They won the League Cup twenty one times. Now that's impressive!" And he was very excited when he said it.

Livia's eyes scanned the page quickly. "Not as impressive as their losing streak. According to this, they haven't won since 1892." She smirked when she saw his grin falter. "But you're probably right. Twenty one wins is rather impressive. Maybe they've just hit a bit of a rough patch...that's lasted a hundred years." And she had to laugh at her unforgiving sense of humor. After all, he certainly wasn't going to.

Fortunately, the rather abrasive knock at the door caused them both to turn around quite suddenly. Fred watched the pair of them with a unashamed grin on his face, and both George and Livia's stomachs turned.

"Am I...interrupting?" Fred asked, taking extra care to enunciate. It made the word seem all the more biting.

"Not at all," George said, finishing off his remaining water, and depositing the cup in the sink.

"George was just letting me borrow this book." She gently took it back from George. "He's taken it upon himself to enlighten me about the wonder that is Quidditch," Livia offered, fanning through a couple more pages.

And it was fortunate that she did because otherwise, she would've caught the smirk that Fred gave his brother. "Has he now?"

But George remained unflappable. Or at least appeared that way. "Did you need something Fred? Because I think we're about done here."

"Oh yeah," Fred replied, suddenly snapping back to attention. "I was looking for _you_ actually." And he pointed at Livia. "I'm afraid your brother was behaving a bit rudely to a couple of fifth years."

Livia's face was colored confused. "Behaving a bit rudely? That doesn't seem like Declan."

Fred shrugged. "Well, that might be putting it mildly. He was more mouthing off unnecessarily, and said a couple of bloody awful things."

"Ah," she replied. "That actually sounds more like it. Is he still going at it?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to tell you. The fifth years were gearing to drag him outside of the shop so they could take care of him when he jumped up quite suddenly, and ran out the front door."

"Why?" she exclaimed, obviously unaware of where this was going. "I don't understand."

"He's in the alley puking his intestines out. A couple of the kids ran after him to see what was going on, and judging by what I heard, he's pretty ill."

George turned to face Livia, and fully expected her to dash out of the flat, and run to the aid of her brother. It didn't matter how rocky the relationship was between siblings. When push came to shove, blood demanded that brothers and sisters always came to each others aid. It was like a law of nature. Even if George and Fred had made it their lifelong goals to pester Percy to the very limits of his patience, he had always been quick to defend them when their well beings were threatened.

And suddenly, George's throat constricted. He could only hope that Percy was still capable of that now. He shook his head, dragged himself back to the present, and waited for Livia to run to Declan's rescue.

But to his utter surprise, she smiled instead. "Any word on when you two will getting more of those Edible Death Marks?" she asked while she innocently inspected her fingernails.

And once again, George found himself pleasantly surprised by this peculiar Irish girl.

* * *

**Endnote: So there it is. Once again, I recognize that it was a bit on the short side. But I felt the scene ended in the most appropriate place that it could! If I can get myself a couple more reviewers, I'll upload chapter four sometime this week, and put off the 'waiting till Saturday' for a week. Yes, I have chapter four. And five. And six. :) Have I perked your interest yet?**

**See you soon! (Much sooner if you review hint hint). **

**Am I shameless? I think so. **

**-V.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: Alas, I didn't get the amount of reviews that I was hoping for therefore, I had to keep to my schedule and update closer to the weekend. I did try to shoot for a day or two early though. While I didn't get as much feedback as I would have liked, i loved the reviews I did get! And if you reviewers are so good as to be faithful, then why can't I reward, right? haha But if I can speak honestly, I don't know if I would have had the time to get this chapter polished and up halfway through this week. I'm dangerously close to graduating, but what I've come to discover is that all that really means is...a lot of work. A lot. Lots and lots. And then more. haha...Okay. I feel better now. **

**So a BIG OL' THANK YOU to my awesome four reviewers for chapter three: nonicasweet, Whatever Makes You Break, stubble96, and JillianFofillian. You all are just too awesome, and I'm mucho appreciative that you are taking the time to review this thing! This chapter is for all of you!**

**So, let's get to readin', shall we? Enjoy. **

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**Chapter Four**

_"There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows_  
_and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures." _  
_-William Shakespeare_

Livia glanced up when the sound of gentle rapping on her door reached her ears. While she had long since abandoned any sense of concern for the opinions of most people, she had no desire to answer the door while she looked like a half dressed derelict. Even she had more self respect than that.

"It's open," she called out, fully aware of who was knocking on her door. She heard the sound of a door opening followed by the distinct _tap tap tap_ of stilettos on her hardwood floors. "In here Zoe."

A face joined Livia's in the mirror. Dark brown eyes regarded Livia's unkempt hair, half finished make up, and a slightly worn pair of _Rolling Stones_ pajama pants. An eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"So when I called you half an hour ago to ask if you were ready to go, you said?"

Livia ran a hand through her hair. "I said 'all set'."

Zoe nodded once. "And when you said 'all set', what you meant was..."

"That I was still in bed, but well on my way to _being_ 'all set'." And Livia smiled at her best friend when the girl rolled her eyes. Quite possibly Livia's opposite in every way possible, Zoe, who had a good six inches on Livia, towered over the red head girl. Her dark skin was typical of a girl born in Montego Bay, Jamaica, but her years spent in England had significantly lessened her accent.

Livia walked past Zoe, and replaced her pajamas with a pair of jeans. Her hair was still a bit messy, but it had been her intent. Zoe was pleased to note that at least Livia's make up was done. She watched as Livia began plowing through her sock drawer, but then grimaced when Livia pulled off her unmatched socks only to replace them with more unmatched socks.

"Are you serious?" Zoe asked, not sparing a hint of disbelief, but Livia simply shrugged her shoulders as if that should suffice as an answer. And funnily enough, it did. Zoe followed Livia into the living room, and stood by while she slipped on a pair of converse chucks. "So do you want to eat before the concert or just wait till after?"

Livia opened her mouth to respond, but never got the chance to. It was at that moment that a rather flustered looking owl decided to crash itself into the living room window. Both girls jumped in surprise, but the shock only lasted for a moment.

Livia removed the note from the owl, and unwrapped it carefully, passing the exhausted bird a treat while she did so. Zoe watched the exchange curiously, and stood by for the explanation. But when Livia glanced through her calendar and then wrote up a quick response all without offering any sort of justification for her actions, Zoe felt it necessary to step in.

"The owl belongs to th' bloke you were tellin' me about, doesn't it?" Livia nodded, and sent the bird on its way. And as she had been many, many times in the past and would undoubtedly be in the future, Livia was entirely too grateful that she didn't have to explain the specifics of her life to her closest friend. Any other person absolutely would've put Livia through the third degree in response to the random appearance of an owl baring a note. But not Zoe. She more than understood the details of Livia's life, however strange and unorthodox it could be at times. And Livia felt the ever familiar surge of appreciation at the strange twists of fate that had brought the girls together. They certainly weren't as adorably similar as two peas in a pod, but they were alike in certain ways.

Very important ways. Very anomalous ways.

After all, non magical offspring born to magical parents weren't at all common, and they were so few and far between that the chances of one squib coming across another squib were almost inconceivable.

But the fates had been kind to Livia when they intersected her life's path with that of Zoe's- the only other squib who attended _Kingston University_. However, their paths had been crossed much earlier than university. They had been friends since age eleven, best friends since twelve, pretend sisters at thirteen, mortal enemies at fourteen, and blood sisters at fifteen. The rest was, as they say, history.

And so Livia had no need to explain the random appearance of an owl at her window with a note tied firmly to it. She had no need because Zoe more than understood the necessity of utilizing owls as messengers. Both her parents were Jamaican muggle borns, but after their inevitable (and rather messy) divorce, her mother was awarded custody of Zoe and promptly relocated to England. And thus began Zoe's gradual acclamation to a country and a culture in which she would always stand out. But in a beautiful way. A way that demanded peoples' attention when she strolled down the street. Livia had always been well aware of the seemingly ever present spotlight that followed Zoe wherever she went. It was effervescent. From her wild curls and full lips to her enormous earrings and eye grabbing sense of style. Maybe it was the confidence in her gait, or the Jamaican tendencies in the way that she talked. Or maybe, it was the fact that when she and Livia walked down the streets throwing their heads back in laughter, they looked like polar opposites.

But it never seemed to bother them. They were perfectly incomplete. And content to be so.

"So you gonna tell me what's goin' on wit' you and this guy?" Zoe asked.

"Nothing is going on. He's just..."

Zoe cut her off. "Some guy that you met in th' Alley. Yeah, I remember. So why you writin' him?"

Livia shrugged nonchalantly. "It would be rude not to respond to him." And she said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps it was...to anyone who _wasn't_ writing back and forth to a wizard that she _barely_ knew from a world she could _never_ know.

"Point taken. So why he writin' you?" At this, Livia couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her counterpart.

"I think you're reading much too much into this and there isn't anything there to read!"

Zoe smirked. "Oh, I think I'm readin' just the right amount. Sendin' you owls about who knows what..."

"I know what," Livia said sarcastically.

"Been writin' back and forth for what, two weeks now? And you tellin' me this is all innocent fun?"

It took a moment of fighting her instincts for Livia not to dash onto the defense. After all, it would only fan the flame. "It is innocent fun," she stated. "It's cordial, innocent fun. George is a _friend_, Zo. That's all! And the notes are hardly anything to get in a huff about!" At this, Zoe shot her an unconvinced look. "You and I both know that I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm not even looking for something casual. But George is interesting and funny...and harmless. He's..." She paused to search her mind for the right word. "Nice. He's just a nice guy."

And Zoe's smirk faded the tiniest bit. "But he's not a guy, Liv. He's a wizard." And Livia, in response, felt her own smile dissipate as well. "I...I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Zoe studied Livia's features to try her hand at reading them, but it was no use. If there was one thing that Livia seemed to excel at, it was hiding her emotions behind solid brick walls that invited attempts to shake it loose, but never succumbed to them. And as quick as lightning, the tinges of pain were squashed, and gone forever.

"I won't!" Livia said, and she smiled brightly as she threw on her loudest pair of sunglasses. "Now, are we ready to go? Because I'm so hungry, my own arms are starting to look tempting."

"You know I hate them glasses," Zoe said, and crossed her arms with every bit of attitude that she possessed.

Livia laughed. "Course I know. Why do you think I chose them?" And she smirked. Zoe helped herself to a bottled water in the fridge, and then turned to face her red headed counterpart.

"So what did he write you?" she asked.

"Who?" Livia replied as if their prior conversation hadn't even occurred at all, but she was hardly convincing. The poor girl was an absolute horror at lying.

"Oh, I don't know. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop!" Zoe said with a well timed eye roll. "Th' boy with the joke shop, Liv!"

Livia, at least, had the sense to look embarrassed. "Um...he asked me...he wanted to know if I was up for hanging out...with him...and some of his friends." She chanced a glance at Zoe's face, but inwardly cringed at the look of knowing on it. She hurried to veer the topic back into safer waters. "So you ready to go? There's food to be eaten, and music to be listened to!"

Zoe knew better than to press the subject. "Yeah, let's be off."

* * *

**At the Burrow that same night...**

"I tell you all, it's fascinating!" Arthur said as he swallowed another spoonful of soup. It had been several weeks since the twins had last made it home for supper, but Molly hadn't time enough to fret over it. Not while she was too preoccupied chasing after her 'happy as a clam' husband. It had only been three days earlier when Arthur had received a parcel from George. A parcel containing a certain muggle book concerning a certain muggle magician.

Molly smiled at her twins, and then back at her elated husband. "So you like the book, daddy?"

Arthur downed another bit of soup. "Like it? More like I love it! It's all vastly interesting. It does, however, prove just how blind these muggles choose to be. Imagine not being able to recognize a wizard when he's right in front of your face." And then he paused for a moment, and considered his words. "But in their defense, he did put on quite a convincing show. The things he willingly did in order to ensure that people believed he was just an ordinary man! It's beyond me. Did you know he would actually put himself in harm's way just to make absolutely sure that people believed him? I mean, he purposefully allowed his tricks to go too far. Almost to the point of death, he did. And all of it, a great, big joke!"

At this, George's eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion. "Didn't you say that he died after getting walloped in the stomach? And the muggle doctors couldn't fix him?"

Mr. Weasley frowned. "Uh...yes, well...I suppose that particular incident didn't pan out as planned...but it's hardly enough to put a black mark on his good name!"

"No. Just enough to end it," Fred said under his breath.

But if Mr. Weasley heard Fred's words, he didn't let on. "And his wife never suspected a thing about his being a wizard. Can you imagine?" Fascination and admiration dripped from his lips as he spoke.

But Molly frowned. "Poor dear," she said under her breath.

Fred quirked an eyebrow. "Poor dear how, mum?"

"Never mind poor dear how," George interrupted. "Poor dear who? I've completely lost track of this conversation! Was Houdini the poor dear or his wife?"

But Molly dodged the twins' sometimes tiring way of running her in circles. "His wife. I feel quite bad for her. Imagine living your whole life married to a man who won't even confide in you his deepest secrets. Now, everyone knows that the staple of any solid relationship is trust. But you can't have trust in a situation like theirs!"

"Mum, you really expect a wizard in 19th century America to stroll up to his wife, and confess that the secret to his success isn't his uncanny ability to squirm out of a straitjacket, but is instead the result of magical powers? _And_ that people really do fly on brooms? _And_ that dragons really do exist? _And_ that wizards _really _do go bad, and kill people?" Fred pointed out, Arthur nodded in agreement.

"What do the muggles say?" said Mr. Weasley. "_Ignorance is bliss_?" George and Fred seemed to agree with him, but Molly simply shook her head, resolute as ever.

"Well, I disagree, and I'm not about to change my mind. I still say that's no way to conduct yourself when in a relationship. Especially when a wizard is in a relationship with a muggle. It simply isn't proper!" And then her head perked up, and she looked across the table at George. "Speaking of muggles," she said, her previously sour attitude completely gone as a comfortable twinkle settled in her eyes.

And inwardly, George cringed. 'Oh no,' he thought to himself although he might as well have whispered it to Fred. One thing that the twins were uncommonly good at was anticipating each other's thoughts. It was always to Molly's disadvantage...and Percy's as well. But they tended to go much easier on Molly than they did on their older brother. Fred smirked at George, more than aware of where this conversation was rapidly heading to.

"How is that girl? The one who let you borrow the book?" Mrs. Weasley asked, not entirely successful at making her voice sound as innocent and nonchalant as she had hoped.

The entire table turned to face George, and he suddenly felt uncomfortably itchy beneath his color. Either that, or the room was getting hotter by the minute.

He shrugged. "She's fine, I suppose."

But that horribly dull answer didn't satiate Molly's burning curiosity in the slightest. "And what exactly does that mean? _I suppose?_" George and Mrs. Weasley were so caught up in their current conversation that neither of them stopped to consider the _thump_ when the twins' owl landed on the window sill. Fred moved quickly to intercept the note, and opened it without bothering to mention it.

"It means that what it says. I suppose that she's fine. I haven't heard anything to the contrary." At this, Molly brightened considerably, and George moved quickly to repair the situation. "Not that I hear from her at all. She came by the shop to let me borrow the book, and that was all." His voice was cool and unaffected, but his heart was pounding against the walls of his ribcage. All in all, it was quite an unpleasant feeling. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), it was at this moment that Fred decided to step in.

"It's from Livia. She said she's in," was all he said, and it was clearly meant for George. George nodded, but then immediately grimaced when a rather knowing smirk settled on Molly's features.

"She's in for what dears?"

George scowled at Fred who was, at the moment, doing his best to hide his chuckles. Luckily, Fred had the sense to jump in. "We invited her to a Quidditch match. Apparently, she's never been to a match."

At the mention of Quidditch, Mr. Weasley's eyes widened. "That sounds splendid. Whose playing?"

Fred glanced at George to see if he wanted to answer, but the younger of the Weasley twins was still doing a fair bit of glaring. So Fred continued. "_Puddlemere United_. We thought it was high time we popped in on Wood for a visit."

Arthur nodded approvingly. "Very good. And is this Livia a Puddlemere fan?"

Once again, George refused to answer. "Well, when she met us for lunch with Lee and Katie, she seemed completely unfamiliar with the game." Molly's eyebrows rose, but ever the reckless one, Fred continued without thinking. Or else, he was talking on and on in full awareness of what he was doing. "But George let her borrow his copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, so hopefully, by the match next week, she'll have caught up a bit."

"That's a good thing. Best to be knowledgeable of what you're watching in a game like Quidditch," Arthur piped up.

But, at the moment, Molly couldn't care less about Quidditch. "She's met you both for lunch? Well, that's lovely."

George jumped in to provide some much needed damage control. "Not just us, mum. Lee and Katie were there as well. You know, just a group of _friends_." He placed a little bit more emphasis on the word 'friends' than was necessary, but Molly was a hard woman to convince.

"So how often do you lot see this...friend?" she asked with a curious lilt in her voice.

Fred glanced at his brother. If the ship was going to sink (and it inevitably would), it wasn't going to be Fred at the wheel. George's sigh reeked of defeat, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

"She's met us for lunch twice, and dinner once." He tried hard to make his response seem as disinterested and _ho hum_ as possible, but wasn't entirely sure that he had been successful. For a moment, he couldn't help but feel absolutely ridiculous. After all, there was nothing to note about his friendship with Livia. His or Fred's for that matter. 'A glorified acquaintance,' he thought to himself, but then took the title back immediately. It wasn't fair to Livia. She certainly wasn't just a glorified acquaintance. She was a friend. Plain and simple. And that was perfectly acceptable. He and Fred had entertained plenty of successful friendships with the opposite sex, and would undoubtedly enjoy more.

So why was Livia any different? But then he banished the thought. Livia wasn't any different to anyone...except for his mum. But then he resisted the urge to swallow. Molly may have been only one person, but she was quite the _one. _And this _one was _currently smiling at him unabashedly.

"Well, I do hope that you both behaved like proper gentlemen, and treated her to dinner. A lady shouldn't have to pay for her dinner when she is in the company of respectable men." And Arthur agreed like a good husband should.

Fred jumped back in. "Somehow, I don't think Livia is the type to let a couple of blokes pay for her meal."

George smirked. No, that certainly didn't seem like the case. "Yeah, and fortunately, we didn't have to cross that bridge. We didn't go out for dinner. She wanted to cook. So she came by the flat, and tried her hand at a Hunter's Pie."

At the mention of the pie, Arthur brightened. "Oh? She cooks?" Arthur Weasley certainly knew the worth of settling down with a woman who could hold her own in the kitchen. It had been one of the things that had drawn him to Molly.

But George laughed. "More like she burns, but I suppose there is certainly room for improvement."

"Absolutely," Fred joked. "Now, we didn't actually get to taste the pie, but it looked like it had potential."

Molly frowned, not entirely pleased with this turn of events, and so she turned the topic of conversation back onto something a little safer. "So is Livia excited about the _Puddlemere_ game?"

All eyes settled on George as if he were the expert on all things Livia. But then again, he supposed that he was the one most acquainted with her. After all, he _had_ been the only Weasley to engage in innocent back and forth message sending. But it was hardly anything to make a fuss over. Initially, it had started with him sending her a polite note of thanks for the book days after she had let him borrow it. He had failed to mention that he had instead passed it along to his father, and figured that as long as someone was getting a bit of use out of it, then the 'who' was irrelevant. That was all. A plain 'thank you'. And after she had written back a typical 'You're welcome', the rest had sort of fallen into place, and the notes continued flying back and forth. Nothing serious, of course. Just the occasional 'Hello, how are you?' and the even less frequent 'You'll never guess what happened'. But even he knew better than to announce that to his current dinner mates. In fact, as far as he was concerned, his sole concern, at the moment, was preoccupying himself with his food.

Unfortunately, Fred's not so subtle elbow to the ribcage jarred him from his thoughts, and he had no choice but to respond.

"I suppose so."

* * *

**After dinner that evening...**

Molly Weasley glanced over at her husband as she settled in the same spot that she had slept in for twenty six years. And when he failed to look up from that confounded muggle book, she sighed dramatically in hopes that his husbandly concern would get the best of him. When her (only slightly childish) resort was found sorely lacking, she sighed again. But this time, it was out of frustration. A few seconds crept by silently while she stared holes into the side of his head, and yet, he read on completely unconscious of the tempest brewing beside him beneath a head of ginger hair and a flower print sleeping gown.

Finally, her glittering lack of patience got the better of her. After all, Arthur could hardly blame her. After six sons, a daughter who sometimes fancied herself as 'tough' as a son, and a husband who still behaved like a boy, she had long since abandoned her patience. And she had no care or desire to get it back. Molly Weasley nee Prewitt had never been a fan of that particular virtue. And quite honestly, it had never really been a fan of her either.

Arthur snapped to attention when she snatched the book from his hands, and slammed it shut. But she did take care to note what page he had been on. Her love for the man simply wouldn't allow otherwise.

"So what do you think of that Livia girl that George is talking to?" she asked quickly.

Arthur eyes dodged back and forth between his wife and the book that she held in her grip. "She has fine taste in reading material?" he asked, not entirely certain if that was the sort of answer that she was looking for. When her eyes narrowed dangerously, he suddenly became very certain that absolutely had not been what she was looking for. Not at all.

"Do we like her?" Molly offered.

And Arthur smiled softly. As much as he wanted to return to his book, he couldn't help but appreciate Molly for all of her quirks. Especially for her inability to stay a safe distance from any of her children's' entanglements, romantic or otherwise.

"I don't think it's absolutely necessary for us to form any sort of opinions on her. Whether or not they're of the pleasant sort."

She didn't bother concealing her unimpressed eye roll. "Oh pish posh! Not necessary! What sort of nonsense is that Arthur Weasley? Of course its necessary. It's our responsibility to judge whether or not we like the girls are our boys bring home."

"George hasn't brought her home."

Molly narrowed her eyes at her husband. "He might."

But Arthur simply snorted. "Not at the rate he's going now. He didn't seem entirely too interested when we were all talking about her. Certainly not the mark of a man intent on bringing the young lady home to meet his family."

"Appearances aren't everything!" she said resolutely. "Harry didn't seem at all interested in Ginny when they first met and..."

"Molly, he was eleven. She was ten. It's unrealistic to suppose that an eleven year old wizard would show interest in anything other Quidditch and mischief."

"My _point," _she pressed on as though he hadn't interrupted her at all. "...is that Harry wasn't interested in Ginny when they started, but now..." She trailed off as her sentiments more than completed the thought for her.

"Well, George is not Harry. And this Livia girl certainly isn't Ginny. She isn't even a witch. She's a muggle, and perhaps a fine one at that. But a muggle just the same."

Molly's eyes widened. "And?"

"And..." Arthur started, treading lightly. "Perhaps some bridges simply aren't meant to be crossed." His words were quiet, but hung thickly in the air around them.

Molly clenched her jaw tightly. "Arthur Weasley, never in all my years. For someone who prides himself on being so open to the muggle world, that was a very _Malfoy_ thing to say!" She spat Lucius's family name as if it burned her mouth to utter the words. But as much as it pained her to say it, she knew that it pained Arthur more to hear it. He clenched his lips, and averted his eyes. Molly took it as her cue to continue her rather heated tirade, but her husband quickly cut her off.

"Molly, do not mistake my concern for George and this girl for a blatant disregard of based solely on the fact that she is a muggle. I could never do that. But I refuse to proceed without caution. These are perilous times!"

"I know that," she said, cutting him off, he he simply continued without giving her leave to assume command of the conversation. The floor was his.

"As much as You-Know-Who despises muggle born wizards and witches, he hates muggles just as much. Perhaps a relationship with George wouldn't put her in any sort of danger. But maybe it would. And while I won't discourage this relationship that you seem so bent on forcing, I won't encourage it either. Not until I am sure that both George and this Livia are fully aware of the risks." He paused to gather his wits. "As if we don't have enough to worry about with You-Know-Who at large and getting stronger every day, but we also have to watch out for Death Eaters, tread lightly around the Ministry with all of its devious pretenders, and keep clear of traitors."

Molly sighed, completely unable to argue. While she prided herself on her fiery independence, she could not debate this with her husband. Not when he was right. And when her eyes dropped in realization of that fact, Arthur felt himself soften. He had never been able to stay cross with her for very long. His steadfast love for the woman simply did not allow it. He took her into his arms, and kissed her hair.

"I just don't want either of them to get hurt," he said softly. "That's all. George is our son, and he is a good man. For those reasons alone, he is a target for You-Know-Who and his lot. Toss in the fact that he is whisking back and forth from the Alley to muggle London to see the muggle daughter of a wizard and witch, and he could very well be putting himself in danger. And her as well."

Molly nestled closely into his side, and sighed once more. "I know." Arthur watched fondly as her eyes narrowed, and she stared, at nothing in particular, deep in thought. Quite suddenly, she perked her head up. "I just wish that boy would take a bit of initiative the way Fred has, and find himself a nice girl. He spends much too much time in that shop, and much too much time trailing after his brother."

Arthur smirked. "Well, I, for one, am exceedingly glad that they are as close as they are. It's the way it should be!"

"Agreed," Molly exclaimed. "But 'the way it should be' won't give me any grandchildren!" And Arthur's eyes widened in half shock and half amusement. Realizing that she had actually said the words aloud, Molly had sense enough to blush. She peeked up at her husband who was smirking at her outburst, and she smiled. "Well, a mother can dream, can't she?"

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**End note: Oh Molly. :) But this is why we love her, right? Well, there is chapter four. It is a bit longer than the previous chapter, but I think it ended where it needed to. Obviously, I'm not the final authority. Let me know what you thought. Faithful reviewers, keep em' coming! You all have such great things to say, and it's absolutely motivating me to keep this story coming. If you haven't reviewed yet, DO IT! :) **

**See you all soon!**

**-V.  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: I know. I updated before my appointed time. I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it. I do so like this chapter, and I wanted to see what you all thought. It is a tad bit longer, but I think it'll do. The chapters will all vary in length because some of them will be narrative while others will be sets of letters or something of the sort. Nothing too major, and I'll try to give you a heads up when it happens. Anyways, much love to my four reviewers: _Whatever Makes You Break, jessie 42801, nonicasweet,_and _avelina99._ You all are awesome, and I dance in glee every time you take a moment to let me know what you think. I do think that I'm in a bit of a rut though. I can't seem to get more than four reviews per chapter. And while I'm way grateful for the ones that I'm getting, I would love to see more. Some of you older chapter one and two reviewers, stop by and say HI! Hope you all like this chapter. I do! **

**And _Whatever Makes You Break,_ I left you a little gift in the chapter. An Oliver Wood shaped gift. ;) hehehe**

**All right. Now, on with the show! Enjoy.  
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**Chapter Five  
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_Truth is truth, to the end of reckoning._

_-Shakespeare_

**A Week Later...**

A kind faced, middle aged witch and her toddler son smiled politely at Livia as the pair of them passed by the entrance of the joke shop where she was currently standing in front of. She grinned back, and chuckled under her breath when the little boy waved at her with his chubby, jam covered fingers. The cobblestone streets were relatively empty as the alley was slowly winding down after a hard day's work, and so the presence of a lone red head propped up against a shop wall was more than a bit conspicuous.

'And maybe a bit suspicious,' Livia supposed to herself when she a pair of elderly eyes peeking at her from behind a second story window across the street. But then again, she could hardly blame the Alley's inhabitants for treading more cautiously than usual. She glanced down the street, and frowned when her eyes, at last, found _Ollivander's Wand Shop_. As of yet, there were no reports of old Mr. Ollivander's safe recovery, and even after weeks and weeks had passed, the place still looked as dreadful as it looked on the day of the attack. Livia remembered the day quite well. Her mother had notified her of the attack by owl. At the end of the note, there was a peculiar little 'Please, be safe' that had caused a strange feeling to erupt in Livia's chest. _Please, be safe_. The words were startlingly vulnerable, almost hesitant, as if her mother had been unsure of how to express such sentiments to her daughter. And Livia was just as unsure of how to accept them. She had crumpled up the note almost immediately and deposited it in the rubbish bin without a thought.

But she returned to the trash twelve minutes later, retrieved the note, smoothed it out as best she could, and placed it carefully in her back pocket.

An hour later, another owl showed up at her flat, and she recognized it immediately. Of course, George's news, at that point, was old news, but she appreciated his concern for her safety. However, she found his advice to stay in behind locked doors to be a bit much. That is until the London attacks. And while the rest of the world stayed glued to their televisions for much needed news and hope, Livia and Zoe held hands tightly and pressed their faces to the windows. The citizens of London had their own opinions on what had happened. Some had supposed it was some government testing gone wrong. Others claimed the bridge had been struck by meteors that had somehow been undetected by the proper authorities. And there were others still who were convinced the country had been attacked by internal extremist groups. But Livia and Zoe knew the truth. Deatheaters. And when Livia had caught sight of Voldemort's mark in the clouds above the city, she felt the first true traces of pure, unrestrained horror that she had ever felt in her short nineteen years of life.

Fortunately, both muggle London and the wizarding world was doing its best to move past that fateful day. And while Londoners returned to their jobs, wizards and witches everywhere returned to the Quidditch games. It was a good thing too because Livia was quite looking forward to experiencing her very first match. Far be it from her to proclaim herself a sports fanatic. She more than knew her limits. But the twins had seemed to excited about it and so adamant that she attend one that she couldn't resist. Declan always loved it. Her father adored it. Her mother adored her father, and therefore Quidditch by extension. But Livia had never seen a game. Never heard the rules. Never roamed her eyes around the field for the snitch. Never dressed in team colors or drooled over delectable team captains. And before meeting George and Fred, she had never once cared that she hadn't done those things. But upon meeting the pair and bringing home that ridiculous encyclopedia of all things Quidditch, she had discovered an unquestionable desire to participate in the wizarding world's greatest sport. And so when the twins owled her and invited her to a match, she leaped at the chance.

Livia glanced up from her spot against the wall that she had been leaning against when the sound of the door chime caught her attention. As the twins filed out of the shop, she glanced at her wristwatch, and noted that the time was six on the nose. Even in the small amount of time that she had known George and Fred, she had come to understand that, for all of their strangeness, they were surprisingly prompt when they wanted to be. And that was something she could appreciate, promptness not necessarily being one of her more obvious virtues. She smirked at their matching Puddlemere apparel.

George smiled at her when he noticed her standing there. "So you haven't changed your mind yet? I thought for sure you'd have a change of heart, and decide that you were better off without Quidditch."

She shook her head fiercely. "And risk missing out on my mum's near panic attack when she found out where I was spending my evening? Absolutely not!"

Fred laughed. "She not keen on you trying your hand at it?"

"Well, I think that she was just so shocked that I was venturing out of _my_ world and into _hers_ that she wasn't quite sure what to think." She smirked deviously. "But when she heard _who_ I was going with, she about fainted in the middle of her living room! I think I'll cherish that moment till the day I die." And the look in her eyes was so dreamy and wistful that the boys were inclined to believe her.

George's eyes narrowed. "Wait- you said when she heard _who _you were going with. Why would she bother herself over me and Fred? It's not like she knows who we are."

But Livia merely shrugged. "Actually, she does. You forget that both she and dad work in the Alley same as the both of you." The devious smirk returned to grace her impish features. "And judging by what Declan's told me about the two of you and your latter years spent at Hogwarts, the _infamous_ Weasley twins are apparently the stuff of legend." And she waved her hands magically about them, laughing while she did it.

Fred puffed his chest. "Infamous, you say?" He regarded the word for a moment. "I like it!"

"Bound to be good for business, whatever it is!" George said, motioning for Livia to walk beside him as the trio set off.

"What's bound to be good for business?" a voice called out from ahead of them. The three of them looked up to find two girls and one man walking towards them, all of them adorned with smiles. Livia recognized two of them from a previous lunch engagement with the twins, and while the third girl wasn't someone that she was personally familiar with, she knew the girl well from Fred's amorous descriptions of her.

"Apparently, Fred and I are famous around the alley," George answered Lee Jordan who had been the one to ask the question in the first place.

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. "Famous for all the wrong reasons." The others, with the exception of Angelina, laughed. She playfully rolled her eyes at his antics, but Fred was unflappable as usual. He didn't hesitate to yank her into his arms, and place a well meaning albeit sloppy kiss on her hair. And although she was laughing as she did it, she extracted herself from his arms, and extended a friendly hand towards Livia.

"And you'd think my manners went straight out of the window. I'm Angelina. You must be Livia. I've heard so much about you!"

Livia shook the girl's hand, and grinned. After pleasantries had been exchanged, Lee rallied the group, and insisted that they head off so as not to miss the game. The train was taking them straight into Dorset as flying was obviously out of the question. Livia felt guilty for all of four seconds before Katie smiled and brushed it off in a way that left no room for question. The girls led the way with Livia taking her place in between the two while the men followed behind. And once again, George couldn't help but admire Livia's silent refusal to be demeaned by the underlying and ever present differences that set her apart from the rest of the group. She was a muggle marching around the Alley with a group of well trained wizards and witches on their way to a Quidditch match. And she fit in perfectly.

While Lee and Fred carried on about nothing in particular, George took notice of the striking contrast between the three girls. With June just around the corner, the weather had shifted and summer was in full swing with glorious sunshine and crisp cool breezes. Katie donned a pair of jean shorts, and topped it off with her Puddlemere shirt. Her top hugged her curves deliciously, and even though Fred was happily with Angelina and George was happily _not,_ neither of them could help but sneak a peek. But then again, that had been her intent. Or at least to solicit Lee's stolen peek.

'If the two of them don't hurry up and locate a conveniently placed broom closet...' George thought to himself. Katie's hair had been swept half up while the rest of it framed her face in a charming way. As usual, Angelina was wearing a white skirt that was long enough to be appropriate, but short enough to be flattering. The girl had legs for days, and had no qualms with showing them off whenever and wherever she pleased. And Fred, of course, had no complaints. While she wasn't wearing a traditional Puddlemere shirt, she was donning the team's colors, and was able to pull the ensemble off flawlessly. Her hair was loose in carefully done curls that caught the morning breezes, and swept them in a graceful way.

And then there was Livia. She appeared quite small standing next to Angelina, but wasn't too much shorter than Katie. As the dye in her hair had begun to fade, the effect wasn't so 'strawberry red' anymore, but was more of a natural red. Ginger red. In fact, it was only a tad bit darker than Ron's, and if the Weasley clan were all together, Livia could easily pass off for their sister. He grimaced at the thought.

'Not a sister. Never a sister.'

She was wearing a loose fitting red blouse. It was plaid in design, and buttoned up in the front. He imagined that the sleeves fit down to her wrists although they were currently rolled up to her elbows. Her blue jeans hugged her comfortably, and were tucked inside a worn pair of petite combat boots. Her red hair was loose and wavy, and it spilled out of a black fedora. The outfit was a bit peculiar for George's tastes, but somehow, it came together quite well on her. Never having been one to conform completely to natural styles, he could appreciate her sense of fashion. And she stood out from the two girls that flanked her sides. Katie's shirt hugged her chest in exactly the way that she wanted it to. And Angelina's legs drew attention from everyone and anyone, just the way that they were supposed to. But Livia didn't exactly need help from her clothing to draw attention to her. At first glance, she was commonly plain, and her beauty was quickly dimmed while standing next to the other girls who were more than used to drawing attention. But George couldn't help but notice that when boys and men alike passed by, it was Livia that drew their second glances. And the poor girl walked on and laughed in complete oblivion.

* * *

**Some time later...**

They arrived at the train station in plenty of time to board comfortably, and it wasn't too long before the train was pulling into the station at Dorset. Unfortunately, the station was packed with wizards and witches trying to get to the match which made traveling in a group a bit problematic. But somehow, the fates were kind, and the six of them managed to reach the pitch with little difficulty. The place was swarming with bodies and laughter and the recognizable smell of ale. Livia's eyes darted to and fro in a useless attempt to take in every single detail, and the others grinned at her. They were all so accustomed to the game that they had forgotten how magical it had been the first time. And in a way, Livia's excitement seemed to spill out of her and onto them.

"Oh, look!" Livia said with a smile. "Team flags. I want one. I'll be right back!"

But Lee stopped her. "You aren't going to be able to pay with muggle money. Let one of us fetch it for you," he offered, but she shook her head.

"No need. Before I arrived at the shop, I made a quick stop at _Gringotts_ and exchanged a bit of my money for yours. But thanks though!" And with that, she ran off to buy a Puddlemere flag. Katie turned to Fred and George with an amused smirk.

"Are you sure she's a squib?" They nodded. It wasn't two minutes before Livia returned, her eyes alight with laughter. Fred's jaw dropped a bit.

"I thought you were going to buy a flag!" he exclaimed.

Her arms were full of not only her new Puddlemere flag, but also a Puddlemere sweatshirt, a Magpies flag, and a matching black and white scarf. And with a contented smirk, she haphazardly stuff all of her newly purchased paraphernalia inside of her brand new Holyhead Harpies tote bag while the others watched in amazement.

It was George who finally spoke up. "Good call on the Puddlemere gear. But what's with the Harpies bag?"

She shrugged. "I needed something to carry everything else. And I think I rather like the Harpies. A whole team of women? That's sensational!" She smiled, and the girls couldn't help but laugh in return.

"But then why the Magpies stuff? They're the opposing team. The enemy. _And_ they're playing Puddlemere on Puddlemere's home pitch. That's like the school bully spitting in your eye in your own flat!"

But Livia seemed unperturbed by his striking visual. "I don't know how many of these matches I'll be able to see. This may be the only one I ever get to watch. So the way I see it, if I cheer for both teams, it'll feel like two games instead of one." Livia's companions struggled to see the logic in her statement, but Lee nodded.

"Makes sense to me."

Katie rolled her eyes at him. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked. "Well, we'd better shove off. Wood owled me yesterday to tell me where we would find him. But we have to pop in well before the game, or else they won't let us in to see him."

And like that, the group was off. All around them were hundreds of people. Some had their faces painted navy blue while others were sporting outfits completely made of black and white stripes. Men and women alike whizzed by overhead on brooms, and the noise was deafening. Along the way, Lee stopped to quench his 'thirst' with an ale, and wound up toasting Puddlemere (rather loudly) with a group of old men who were already beyond intoxicated. Fred nudged George and nodded his head at Livia. Her head was snapping left, right, and left again as she tried to experience every bit of the game. It was almost like taking a child to their first Quidditch match. In fact, it was exactly like taking a child to their first Quidditch match...if the child wasn't a child, but was, in fact, a nineteen year old woman.

"So what does this Wood character do?" Livia asked George as she came to walk beside him and his brother.

"Oliver is the reserve keeper."

Livia nodded. "So will we get to see him play?"

"Only if the keeper gets knocked out," George said.

"Or killed," Fred piped in with a coy smirk.

George nodded. "But that typically never happens."

"Although it would be wicked if it did," Fred stated. George and Livia turned to face him with twin looks of shock on their faces. He regarded their expressions for a steady moment before he panicked, and immediately back tracked. "No! Not to say that I _want_ their keeper to...I'm just saying that if anything should happen, Oliver would get to...but that doesn't mean I'm counting on it...but that also doesn't mean that it wouldn't be great to see Wood in action...and I..."

"Look!" Lee exclaimed, effectively cutting Fred off. Fred, in turn, heaved a sigh of relief. "There he is!" The group turned as one to wave at their ex-captain, and Livia craned her neck to get a better look. A few members of the Puddlemere team were heading towards them, and at the head of the pack was a boy of average height. At first glance, he didn't particularly stand out among the tall and well toned men walking with him. But there was a fire in his eyes that was undeniable, and it was with an air of confidence that Livia would never understand that he led the group.

"I was beginning to think that you all weren't going to make it!" Oliver said as he drifted ahead of his teammates, and approached his old friends. Lee stepped forward with a wolfish grin, and threw his arms around Oliver in a friendly bear hug, and Oliver returned it happily.

"We thought we would take the train. Do the scenic thing," Fred said as he and Angelina came forward and hugged him.

Wood laughed. "How very muggle of you," he said, and somehow, the friendly way that he had said it didn't offend Livia.

Katie marched up to him, and threw her arms about his neck. They stumbled for a moment before catching their footing, and everyone laughed at the sight. After she pulled herself away, Oliver approached George and pulled him in for a hug.

"It's great to see all of you," Oliver said with a smile on his voice, and then his eyes fell of Livia. She had naturally pulled off a bit to the side while all the rest of them greeted and caught up with their old Quidditch captain, but she had watched their exchanges with a keen interest.

Angelina stepped up. "Right. Introductions. Oliver, this is Livia." He crossed the space between the two of them, and extended a hand. "Livia, this is Oliver Wood." Livia shook his hand, and noted the quiet strength that seemed to lay beneath the surface.

"It's great to finally meet you," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."

At this, Oliver had the grace to blush a bit, and he turned back towards the others. They were all grinning at him. Everyone except George. For whatever unexplainable reason, George had found himself supremely uncomfortable with the look in Wood's eyes when he saw Livia standing there. And when Oliver took her hand into his, George felt a sudden spike in his pulse.

And he didn't like it. Not one bit. Livia was a friend. Oliver was a friend. Friends had the right to shake hands with other friends. Right?

'Snap out of it, mate,' he thought to himself before shaking the thoughts from his head.

"Well," Oliver started. "I hope they didn't fill your head with too many lies." She playfully shrugged in return.

"If they were lies, they were good ones."

Wood regarded her for a moment. "Your accent, it's Northern Ireland, isn't it?" At this, her eyes widened and she laughed.

"Yeah. That's incredible! How did you know?" George's insides felt as though they were twisting violently, and making for his throat. The thought 'why did I never think to ask where she was from' was immediately followed by 'why do I care?'. George tugged at his collar.

Oliver smiled. "I have family just south of Larne."

And she smiled even wider. "I'm from right outside of Belfast. That's not far from Larne."

"Small world," he said.

She nodded. "Certainly is," she said before walking away from him, and taking her place in between George and Fred. All at once, George's pulse returned to normal.

Wood looked back at his teammates who were patiently waiting on him. "Right," he said. "Mates, these are some of my oldest friends back from my Hogwarts days." And then he turned to face George, Fred, and the others. "Everyone, these are a few of my teammates. Ethan and Abbot are reserve players like me. Chasers. But you'll actually get to see Benjy and Will..."

Benjy cut him off. "Wood, this isn't a play date. We _can_ speak for ourselves." But he smirked when he said it, and Oliver laughed. Benjy shook all of their hands in turn, and properly introduced like his late mother had taught him. He kissed Angelina and Katie's hands causing the two of them to blush furiously. But Livia only smirked when he pressed his lips to her hand.

"So you ready to see us wipe the floor with Montrose, Ms. Livia?" he asked in a shameless way, his sandy blond curly hair inviting her to run her fingers through. Fortunately, she had more sense than that.

"I don't think I'm ready for any of it. This is my first Quidditch match."

At this, Benjy's eyes widened. "You're serious, then?"

"Unmistakably."

With a flourish, Benjy took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket, and bent down on one knee before her. He took her hands in his own, and she smiled at the look of confusion on his fellow teammates, her friends, and every other passerby that crossed their scene. The man was easily in his late twenties, but he seemed completely unperturbed by the fact that she was clearly his junior and a complete stranger at that. "Ms. Livia, would you do me the great honor of carrying my handkerchief while I win this match for you?" The man was a shameless flirt, and he didn't care who knew it.

She laughed. "I suppose it couldn't hurt." He was up and on his feet seconds later, and departed with Abbot and Will. Wood smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Quidditch players!" was all he said. He accepted last minute 'good luck' hugs from Angelina and Katie, and then moved to rejoin his the rest of his team with promises to find them after the game.

George simply chuckled as Livia proudly tied Benjy's handkerchief around her neck, and the group left in search of their seats.

* * *

The pitch was a madhouse with people cheering at the tops of their voices. Puddlemere United was ahead by ten points, and the Magpies were racing the wind trying to settle the score. The match had been in full swing for all of _three_ mind numbing minutes before Livia turned to George, and frowned.

"I don't think I'm in full understanding of what's so appealing about this game!" she shouted to him. Even though he stood only a mere seven inches from her, shouting had suddenly become the only feasible way of communicating with the crowds as loud and boisterous as they were. George gestured to his ear, and shrugged. He still couldn't hear her.

She pulled his closer. "I don't get it!" she shouted a little louder.

He smirked at her ignorance. "I thought you looked at the book!" he shouted back, and then

booed when the Magpies gained control of the quaffle and scored, earning them a well deserved 'ten' on the scoreboard.

She grimaced when a middle aged man behind her began dancing while shouting "Down with the Montrose _Maggots_", and spilled half of his pumpkin juice on her boots. She glared at him for a moment before turning back to George. "I did look at the book. But I thought there was more to it than this!" she said, gesturing at the players that flew back and forth on their broomsticks.

"Well, there isn't," George shouted back, and laughed at her pointed stare. "This is it, and this is enough!" She shook her head, not entirely convinced. She looked back at the pitch, and watched as Puddlemere earned another ten points. Puddlemere fans everywhere erupted into cheers, applause, and in the case of the middle aged man dancer behind Livia, tears. But she stood silent. 'So they fly around, catch the ball, and toss it through the hoop thing,' she thought to herself. 'Am I missing something?'

George glanced over at her, and could read the question in her eyes as easily as if she had spoken it aloud. He bent over to ear. "Just wait till the game really gets going. Quidditch isn't Quidditch until they start playing dirty!"

She sighed and nodded her head. He took that to mean that she would give it another chance before passing her judgment on it. On the other side of George, Fred watched their exchange carefully. And when Livia returned to watching the game with her hands tucked firmly in her pockets, Fred nudged his brother.

"She not enjoying it?" he asked as loudly as he could without risking her hearing him.

George shook his head. "But I told her to wait it out a bit more."

"I don't know," Fred stated with a shrug. "If she doesn't like it now, slim chance that she'll like it ten minutes from now."

But George shook his head again, resolute as ever. "You'll see," he said in a rather cryptic way. And then he paused. "And I don't think she'll need _ten minutes_." He smiled confidently, and his twin laughed in reply.

* * *

**Exactly seven minutes and 36 seconds later...**

George flinched when Livia's shrieking voice pierced the hollow of his ears...again.

"You call that a foul?" she screamed. "Get your hands out of the clouds, ref!" She turned to the middle aged dancing man behind her. "Did you see that, Boone?" she asked, raving her arms about like a lunatic.

"Yeah Liv, I saw that. And that referee better watch his back next time he's out for a drink!" he said, his voice gaining volume as his threat continued.

"Get your heads in the game, Puddlemere!" she screamed. And George flinched again. Lee laughed at her displays, and Fred was forced, once again, to admit that his brother had been right.

And when Puddlemere's chasers successfully scored another ten points, making it 60-30 in their favor, all of the Puddlemere United fans in the pitch roared. And Livia was among some of the loudest.

* * *

**Sometime after the game...**

The pub was filled well past capacity with customers, and most of them were from the big game. The bar was a heaping mess of people shouting their drink orders at the four or five frazzled bar keeps that were manning it. In the half circle booth in the corner sat Lee with his arm securely around Katie, both of whom a bit more than buzzed. Fred and Angelina only veered away from the conversations just long enough to snog unreservedly before adding their two cents as if they'd never left the conversation to begin with. George and Livia rounded off the group with Oliver and Benjy sitting exactly across from them.

When the house musicians began playing a toe tapping jig, everyone in the pub perked up. The sound of tables being pushed and shoved across the floor reached their ears, and the group watched as men and women alike made way for a make shift dance floor. Notes poured forth from a slightly out of tune mandolin and fiddle while someone began squeezing music out of an uillean pipe. Table tops were used as drums, and voices joined in the fray.

"Oh, dancing!" Katie squealed, and she grabbed Lee's hand. "Let's dance." And the pair of them all but crawled over the bodies of their companions on their way to the floor.

Angelina wiggled her eyebrows at Fred. "What do you say we go and...not dance?" This time, it was Fred who grabbed Angelina's hand as he half yanked her out of the booth, the pair of them laughing while they did it. The others watched as Fred and Angelina ducked between people, and slid out of a side door, their lips and hands already seizing one another. Livia was so busy laughing at the sight that she forgot to blush.

"Do you dance?" Livia turned at the sound of the voice, and noted with a good bit of confusion that it was Benjy who had asked her.

"Sorry?" she asked.

He smiled. "Do you dance?"

She glanced at George and Oliver before looking back at Benjy. "Um, actually I do."

If at all possible, his smile deepened. "Really?"

She nodded. "Since I was three. It's what I'm studying in school." The concept of studying dance was lost on Benjy and Oliver, but George blinked.

"I didn't know that," he said. She turned to face him, and grinned.

"I guess it never came up." And she shrugged innocently. "Dancing is sort of what I do." Before George had a chance to answer, Benjy snatched the moment from him.

"Well then, that's settled. You simply must join me for a dance!"

But Livia shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't. I'm not...warmed up or dressed for it or..."

"Nonsense. I insist. Especially since you're the reason that..." and he jumped up on the table. "Puddlemere United beat the Magpies 170 to 100!" he shouted. And the room erupted in applause and cheers. He extended his hand to her. "You see, I asked you to wear my handkerchief because I knew you'd be good luck. And you were. I caught the snitch. The game was ours. And now..." And he jumped down from the table in a flourish. "You're due a dance as a means of expressing my gratitude.

Livia, quite unaware of what she should do, looked back at George. He laughed at her, and shrugged, waving his hand for her to accept Benjy's offer. The music was picking up She smiled slowly, and then took Benjy's hand and stood to her feet. "All right. I think I'll join you for that dance." And while her hand was still in his, she bent over, the others watching her curiously, and she slipped out of her boots. Oliver grinned as she kicked her boots under the table, and turned on her toes to curtsy gracefully. Benjy responded in kind with a mock bow. Then the two of them made for the crowds of dancers, and were caught up in the whirlwind of arms and legs.

George and Oliver watched them for a moment before Puddlemere's Reserve Seeker turned to face George. "So where do you all know her from? Livia, I mean." At the mention of her name being spoken by Oliver, George felt that familiar spike in his pulse. And he chastised himself.

"Yeah, um, I met her at the shop actually. A couple of months ago. She was there with her brother, and we sort of...ran into each other. And we've been running into each other ever since. She met Lee and Katie a few weeks ago when she came to meet Fred and I for lunch. And she met Angelina just today." He watched as Benjy spun her around, and he could see the smile on her face all the way from where he sat. For whatever reason, his heart didn't race when he saw her with Benjy. His hands didn't clench into fists, and his jaw didn't tighten. Oliver, on the other hand, was a different story.

He glanced sideways at Oliver, but saw that his gaze was fixed on Benjy and Livia. Or rather, Livia. His attention was drawn back to the pair when he heard her laughter atop the noise in the pub. And he couldn't help but smile when he saw her link arms with Benjy, and dance around in a reckless circle while waving her fedora in the air. She looked blissfully happy, and almost too in her element. Perhaps her constant tripping over her own two feet had prevented him from ever noticing just how graceful her movements were. But now, as he watched her glide across the room on Benjy's arm, he saw a dancer.

"I don't remember her from Hogwarts," Oliver said, pulling George out of his train of thought.

"No, you wouldn't," he said carefully. "She's not a witch."

When realization hit Oliver's face, his eyes widened. "You mean she's a squib?" George nodded, and Oliver turned his gaze back to her. "Fancy that."

"Yeah," was all that George offered in return.

There was a moment of silence before Oliver, once more, turned to face George. "Do you know if she's seeing anyone?"

George's head snapped towards Oliver. "Seeing? Like...seeing?"

Oliver laughed. "Yeah. Seeing as in seeing," he joked.

"Um...no. Not that I know of. She's never mentioned anyone before." And it was the truth. That particular topic of conversation had never risen up between the two of them. Not that their relationship was such that it warranted the most private of discussions, but he could safely assume that, with as much time as she spent hopping back and forth between her friend Zoe and himself, she wasn't involved with anyone. Or if she was, he certainly wasn't aware or concerned that she was spending an awful lot of free time with a couple of guys. Well, couple of guys being Fred and George. But there had been moments when Fred had left the room or had stepped out of the shop for an errand. And the two of them had been left alone. George couldn't help but think that if he was dating someone, he wouldn't have tolerated her sitting in some flat alone with another bloke. 'No,' he thought. 'She isn't with anyone.'

But Oliver continued, completely unaware of George's current train of thought. "What do you think she'd say if I asked her out for dinner? I mean, you obviously know her better than I do."

George stumbled. "For dinner. Like a date...thing. Um...," he stuttered for a moment. "You know, I really can't say."

Oliver nodded. "That's all right." He glanced at her, and smiled at her obvious enjoyment. "She's a sweet girl, you know?"

"Yeah."

"And she seems different. Well, obviously, she's different. She's the only squib in a room full of wizards and witches. Of course she's different. But I mean different. You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"And I could take her to another match. Let her shout her head off some more. Bet she'd like that," he said with a chuckle.

George tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it. "Yeah, bet she would." With that, he finished off the rest of his untouched butterbeer, and slammed his mug on the table a bit more roughly than was necessary causing Oliver to jump ever so slightly. But George didn't notice. His eyes continued to follow Livia and Benjy as they twirled around like a couple of fools. Oliver's eyes, however, were on George. And then Livia. And then back on George. The music stopped. The crowd clapped and whistled appreciatively. And Oliver nodded.

He bent over closer to George so that his words were only heard by him. "Hey, sorry mate. I didn't know," he said with a kind smile.

George looked at him with confusion etched across his face.

"We're back," Livia called to them as she and Benjy approached the table with twin smiles.

"Didn't know what?" George asked carefully as he and Oliver rose slowly to meet them.

But Oliver just smiled again, and pat George on the back like he would on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch right before a big match. But this wasn't Hogwarts, and they weren't children anymore. George watched as Oliver's eyes darted between himself and Livia. "I didn't know," he repeated.

George swallowed hard.

"And to think that this girl tried putting on airs when I asked her to dance. Did you see her out there? She's a natural!" Benjy said, grinning at the girl still on his arm. And she did a little curtsy. "Well, Ms. Livia, you've worked me into a frenzied thirst. Anyone fancy another round?"

Oliver and Livia both nodded and thanked him, but George didn't say a word. And when Benjy departed to fetch their drinks, Livia turned on her toes and helped herself to George's hand as she stooped beneath the table to grab her boots.

"That was so much fun!" she exclaimed, her face bright even though strands of hair clung to the sides of it. She was a bit sweaty, but couldn't have cared less. She had only replaced one of her boots when she stood on her tiptoes quite suddenly, and threw her arms around George's neck. He stiffened in shock. "Thank you so much for inviting me to come today. This was the most fun I've ever had." And she tightened her hold on him. Ever so slowly, his hands found their way to her waist, and they crept along the back of her shirt, coming to rest on the small of her back. With their bodies pressed so tightly, he had no problem feeling the pounding of her heart, still racing from all of the dancing. And his eyes shut as if of their own accord. He simply couldn't help it.

When they opened, he met Oliver's gaze, and the ex-captain smiled again.

George's stomach dropped.

* * *

**Endnote: Ooooh! :) All right. So the plot is beginning to thicken. Lemme know what you all think! Please do. It really helps to keep me motivated. I know that people are reading this thing. I had almost 100 hits for chapter four alone. But you guys and gals aren't reviewing. :( Show a struggling author some love! haha. Hit that little button. Yeah, that one. Hit it. Now. Do it. **

**Yeah, I'm shameless. I'll admit it.  
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**See you soon! (Much sooner if I see some more reviews...)**

**-V.  
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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: So maybe I should just junk the whole 'I'll update on Saturdays' rule because that doesn't seem to be working out. But I suppose its better to update too fast and too often than not enough, right? I really meant to wait until Saturday to update, but my week has been rather...yes, crappy is the word I would use...and updating makes me happy. :) In related news, I got 6 whole reviews for chapter five! That's the most ever! The only problem is...THE SIX REVIEWS WERE SPLIT BETWEEN TWO REVIEWERS! Are you all trying to kill me? haha. Well, fortunately for the very few but very faithful that are actually sticking around to read this piece o' junk, I'm really, really enjoying this story, and I don't intend on quitting till I'm done. So a GINORMOUS THANK YOU goes out to _Whatever Makes You Break_ and _FredsLastLaugh._ I thoroughly enjoyed your reviews! **

**So here is chapter six. Hope it suits!**

**Enjoy!**

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"_Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,_

_It seems to me most strange that men should fear;_

_Seeing that death, a necessary end, _

_Will come when it will come."_

_-Shakespeare_

**Flashback...**

"We're back," Livia called to them as she and Benjy approached the table with twin smiles. They were both breathing heavily as rigorous dancing can cause a person to do. But she had had such a wonderful time that she hardly cared. And in sixteen years of intense dance training, she was well beyond accustomed to the feeling of catching her breath. In fact, she thrived on it.

But as she and Benjy neared the table where George and Oliver sat, she couldn't help but feel like she was interrupting an important conversation. Or a moment. Or something. But an important something. Oliver was smiling weakly at George, and George looked like he had just been doused by a bucket of ice water. Both Oliver and George stood to their feet as she and Benjy approached, and she watched curiously as Oliver reassuringly pat George on the back. Yes. She had definitely interrupted something. Unfortunately, she had very little time to consider it before Benjy, as was typically Benjy, took control of the situation.

"And to think that this girl tried putting on airs when I asked her to dance. Did you see her out there? She's a natural!" he said, and grinned at her. She couldn't help but smile back, and added a little curtsy for good measure. "Well, Ms. Livia, you've worked me into a frenzied thirst. Anyone fancy another round?"

It was only then that she noticed just how parched she was, and so she nodded and thanked him. Oliver did the same. But it didn't escape her that George stayed silent. And silent was not a word she would have used to describe George Weasley. She peeked at him from the corner of her eyes, and felt a tiny pang in her heart. He was obviously distressed about something, and although she had no possible idea what it could be, she didn't like that it was there. Benjy tipped his head, and departed to fetch their drinks leaving Livia alone with George and Oliver.

And she could feel it immediately. Something in the atmosphere had changed. It was tiny. But it was there.

Eager to distinguish the tension, Livia turned on her toes and helped herself to George's hand as she stooped beneath the table to grab her boots.

"That was so much fun!" she said excitedly, and she could feel bits of her hair clinging to her face. She was a bit sweaty, but couldn't have cared less. The day had been brilliant, the game had been brilliant, the dance had been brilliant, and so sweat was to be expected. And before she had replaced the second of her boots, she was quite overcome by just how marvelous the day had been. And before she had time to register what she was doing, she stood on the tips of her toes just like she had done in her ballet classes for fifteen years, and quite suddenly threw her arms around George's neck. And she felt him stiffen beneath her, but she was too far gone to care. "Thank you so much for inviting me to come today. This was the most fun I've ever had." And she meant it, tightening her hold on him. Ever so slowly, his hands found their way to her waist, and they crept along the back of her shirt, coming to rest on the small of her back. She had expected him to hug her back, but she never expected the sudden rush that came over her when he did it. Now, she was the one who felt like ice water had been poured over her. With their bodies pressed so tightly, she was sure that he had no problem feeling the pounding of her heart, and she hoped with everything she possessed that he supposed it was from the dancing.

His arms tightened around her, and without meaning to, she felt her eyes close. She simply couldn't help it.

'He smells good,' she thought to herself.

Her eyes shot open. And her stomach dropped.

* * *

**_Flourish and Blotts_, nearly two weeks later...**

Livia shook her head, and swore under her breath. She had no idea why that particular memory kept playing itself over and over in her mind, but she was beginning to get a bit sick of it. She glanced at the dusty hardcover in her hand, and immediately located its spot on the shelf. She replaced the book easily enough, but she wasn't thinking about the book or the shelf or the weather or dancing.

She was thinking about a hug.

_ His _hug.

_That_ hug.

It was the hug, and the sudden rush that followed it that had pushed her hand, and forced her to take action in a way that was not typical Livia. She hid. Like a bit of cornered prey. She had refrained from speaking to George since the Puddlemere match. She hadn't even responded to his owls other than to say that she was incredibly busy, and wouldn't be able to respond. And that, of course, had been a flat out lie. And even though the sudden distance between them had been her doing entirely, she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit lonely. While she didn't consider George and Fred best friends, she liked them well enough. No. Not liked them well enough. They were friends. Good friends. Good men. And she enjoyed every minute spent with them. And when she wasn't with them, as was often the case when people literally live worlds apart, they were owling back and forth. So when she tried her best to pull back and cut him off, she couldn't help but feel it. There was an absence. And it was all her fault.

And what bothered her the most was that she wasn't entirely sure why she felt the need to pull back so drastically. It was just a hug. An innocent hug between two friends. Right?

'So then why did you clam up?' she thought to herself, and the thought only succeeded in making her more upset.

She grunted, and squeezed another book into its rightful place.

'I'm probably making a much bigger deal out of this than is necessary. I mean, if I think about it, I have been busy. And it hasn't been that long. Just a week. And we probably wouldn't have talked much or seen much of each other anyways.'

But deep down, she knew that simply wasn't the truth. She hadn't been busy. A week and a half was plenty long. And they would have talked, would have seen each other.

She grunted again. Helping her mother at the bookshop was a quick and easy way to take her mind off of things. She didn't particularly care very much for reading, and cared even less for reading books of the wizard variety. But school was still out for summer holiday, and her morning dance class had been canceled when the instructor suddenly took ill. And with her mind insisting on trekking to all sorts of ill advised places, she jumped at the chance to put her hands to good use when her mother owled her and asked for some help. Apparently, there had been some sort of emergency, and Mrs. Daly found herself in desperate need of extra help.

And so here she was, shelfing books and having a ruddy time at it. She looked at the next book.

"_Magical Draughts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger," she read to herself. "And people give me grief over 'Livia'," she said with a smirk before placing the book back on the shelf. It was in this manner that she continued for the next hour.

_Rune Dictionary._ She flipped through the pages. "It's bloody Klingon," she said to herself in horror.

_ The Monster Book of Monster. _Shelfing that particular book was an experience in and of itself, and after ten minutes of struggle, she tossed in the towel and hid the book under the bookshelves where it would have little chance of biting her fingers clean off.

_ The Standard Book of Spells _by Miranda Goshawk. She didn't bother opening the pages as she was well aware that in doing so, she would be opening herself up to a world of boxed up jealousy towards Declan. And she already had enough ill feelings towards the prat.

But she enjoyed a good laugh when she came across a copy of _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. And after making herself comfortable on the floor, she took her time and perused through the book.

"Livie," her mother called out from somewhere in the front of the shop. "Did you ever find the copy of _Facing the Faceless _that I asked for?"

"I'm looking for it right now, mum!" she called back before returning to her book. And she enjoyed a hearty laugh when she came across the chapter on the wonder that was the muggle postman.

"The muggle postman does the job of an owl, but does so much less effectively and in twice the time," she read aloud with a smile. "While there is no evidence to support it, there are factions of wizards and witches that believe that the muggle postman is a step backwards in the evolutionary spectrum. They are easily identified by their shorts of a questionable length, and are often the target of dogs. So far, no explanation has been gathered to explain this particular phenomenon." And her laughter could be heard all throughout the shop.

Moments later, her mother passed by the aisle with an arm full of books, and gestured for Livia to follow her. For a moment, Livia wondered what her mother was going to say in regards to finding Livia sitting on the job with a book in her lap, but one look at her mother told Livia all she needed to know. The woman was beyond frazzled.

"Fritz just owled to let me know that he wouldn't be in today either," she said, her voice squeaking. "What a disaster." And she handed Livia a stack of books to which she immediately set to shelving.

Not a word was spoken between the two women as they each got to work filling gaps in the shelves, and replacing the books by category and alphabetical order. But Livia snapped to attention when she heard the sound of repressed sniffles, and she turned to her mother. Were those...tears?

"Mum, it's fine," she offered, immediately uncomfortable with the situation. "I mean, the shop is a bit dead. So I think we'll be fine without this Fritz bloke. Um...you want some ice cream?" she asked, and immediately cringed. She was bloody awful at this.

'Someone needs to write a book _Twenty Ways for the Squib Daughter to Comfort her Emotionally Distraught Witch Mother,_' Livia thought to herself as she pat her mother's back awkwardly.

But her mother waved her off, and collected herself as quickly as she could.

"Oh, it's all right dear. It's just...oh, this whole thing is such a disaster. It's a downright tragedy is what it is!"

Livia blinked. "Well, this Fritz really sounds like one upstanding guy," she offered.

Her mother turned to look at her. "I'm not talking about Fritz. Hang Fritz!" And she returned to her stack of books, completely oblivious to the look of utter confusion that crossed her daughter's features. Livia opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it, and chose instead to tend to her own books.

After a few moments of quiet, her mother piped up again. "And you just watch. That horrible woman will just leap at the chance to use this to spike her popularity. It's what she does, you know."

"Who?" Livia asked, utterly lost.

"Rita Skeeter!" Mrs. Daly said, slamming a book onto the bookshelf. "I give it a month before she releases some tell-all biography revealing all sorts of nasty lies about him. I wouldn't think twice before spitting on her grave!" she said vehemently, and Livia's eyes widened in shock. "After all, it's just what she'll be doing to _him_ if she publishes a book about him. And she will too! Mark me. She did the same thing for the last one!"

Finally, Livia had had enough. Conversations with her mother were already tiring enough without being completely uninformed throughout the course of one. "The last what?" she asked.

But her mother continued on as if Livia hadn't spoken at all. "Bleeding shame, that. You don't disrespect the dead."

"Dead?" Livia asked. "Dead who? Who died?" she questioned while her mother blew her nose into a pocket handkerchief.

Mrs. Daly looked at her daughter as if the girl had grown a second head. "Why, Professor Dumbledore. Are you daft girl? It's only the single biggest piece of news this side of the bloody planet."

Livia's books fell to the ground in a careless heap. "Dumbledore...dead?" she said in hushed tones, and to her disbelief, her mother nodded and blew her nose once more.

"Just last night. He was murdered at the school. Apparently, it was that piece of filth, Snape. We all knew that he was a bad egg. In league with You-Know-Who. And now, the Headmaster is g-gone." Her eyes flooded with tears. "And now everyone's in a panic. Without Dumbledore to protect them, Hogwarts will probably close its doors. All those students sent home. And my poor baby is going to be heartbroken. You know how much he loves school. And everything has just..." She stopped when the sound of the door chime caught her attention. She craned her neck to see if there were customers, but all she saw was the flash of her daughter's red hair as she passed through the doorway, and ran out onto the street.

"What in heaven's name has gotten into her?" Mrs. Daly asked to an empty bookshop.

* * *

Livia ran as fast as her short legs could carry her, and before long, she was heaving and panting in front of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_. The door was shut, and the lights were off. The shop was surprisingly lifeless, and she shook off the sudden chill that threatened to creep up her spine. She had never seen the shop so...dead.

Dead. Dead just like...him. The word tore her from her train of thought, and set her right again.

She stepped back from the shop doors, and tried to catch any sign of life from the upstairs windows. And when she saw what looked like the flicker from a candle, she nodded and knocked on the door before she lost her nerve.

She listened for movement. Nothing.

And so she knocked again, a bit harder this time. And then stopped to listen. She was about to raise her fist to the door one more time when she saw a bit of light coming from atop the stairs, and watched as someone descended by candlelight. She stepped back from the door, and waited.

Seconds later, the shop door opened slowly, and she was greeted by none other than George. His eyes widened in surprise when he realized that it was her. And her she felt her heart shatter. His eyes were strained as though he had spent time crying.

Without another thought, she threw her arms around his waist, and hugged him tightly. There was no rush. There was no pounding heart. There were no thoughts regarding how good he smelled. There was simply George and Livia.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. And after a long second, she felt his arms wrap themselves around her back, and his chest rose in a baited breath. "I came as soon as I heard." She pulled herself from the safety of his arms, and looked up at him. "My mum just told me. And I had to come straight away to make sure that you...you and Fred were all right." Her voice broke.

He tried to smile, but it was weak at best. He stepped aside, and gestured for her to walk past him.

"I'll lock it back up," he said quietly. "You can go on upstairs. Everyone else is already here." She didn't need to be told who everyone else was. She simply did as she was told, and ascended the stairs slowly. The lights were still off, but she made her way easily enough, and entered the flat moments later. The apartment was small enough that once you stepped through the front door, you were standing in the living room area. Once again, the lights were dimmed, and there were handfuls of lit candles all throughout the room.

The rest of them sat in a sloppy circle on the floor surrounded by piles of pictures and outdated articles from _The Daily Prophet_. Some of them were on Hogwarts, others on the school's celebrated Quidditch teams, but all of them featured the departed Headmaster in some form or fashion. Then there were some that were solely on him. Most of them praised Dumbledore for all of his wisdom, fairness, goodness, progress, and went as far as labeling him the most powerful wizard of all time. Then there were others that ran his name through the proverbial mud, and did their best to trample over all of the things that he had said and done.

Livia's eyes fell over the article closest to her, and she gingerly picked it up.

_Dumbledore: Daft or Dangerous_

She let the paper slip from her fingertips, and watched it fall to the floor. As George took his spot next to her, her eyes drifted over the rest of the people in the room. Angelina met her eyes, but they were dull and the spark that had been there on the day that they had met was diminished. Fred offered her a weary smile, but it melted off of his face nearly as soon as it appeared. Livia glanced over at Katie who was too busy wiping fresh tears off of her cheeks to glance up. Finally, her eyes fell on Lee, but he was concentrating on a spot in the rug, and had yet to notice that she was even in the room. She sat there quietly as her eyes roamed from person to person, and while the silence continued on in a way that was bordering on awkward, she bit her tongue. It simply wasn't her place.

After minutes, maybe hours, passed in lonely silence, Livia stood to her feet. The others were still so focused on their private thoughts and private grief that they barely noticed her moving. But George glanced up at her, and asked the question with his eyes.

"Tea," was all she said. And while her strange, new friends mourned over the loss of their beloved Headmaster, she put on a pot of tea, and prepared a steaming cup for each of them. They glanced up in mild surprise when she began to pass the teacups around, but were exceedingly grateful for them. Somehow, the heat seemed to take the sting out of their wounds. At least for a moment or two. But the silence continued. And even though Livia maintained control and kept her mouth firmly shut, silence was not something that she excelled at.

Fortunately, she didn't have to stand the silence for long.

"I remember the first time I got sent to his office," Lee said, his voice hushed. "It was my first year. My brother and a few of his mates decided that it would be fitting to celebrate Slytherin's win of the House Cup by setting loose one hundred baby snakes in their common room. Of course, I just wanted in with my brother and his friends. All fifth years. All brilliant. So when they planted me there to make sure that the plan went through as planned, I stupidly agreed. Snape was furious. McGonagall was livid. Dumbledore was..." And suddenly, Lee smiled. "Dumbledore was slightly amused." Angelina laughed. "I mean, officially, he was upset as it was in direct violation of the rules, and an obvious show of poor sportsmanship, and all that nonsense. But unofficially, he looked as though he enjoyed it. We shared a good chuckle that day." His smile faded. "Good egg, that one."

And the room fell silent once more.

That is until Angelina spoke up.

"I was crying first time I met him," she started. "Third day of school my first year, and I was completely miserable. I was so certain that I was going to be sorted into Ravenclaw just like my parents, and then I got tossed into Gryffindor. Might as well have told me I'd wound up in Slytherin. To me, it was just as bad." Lee and Fred smiled at the thought of their Angelina likening her beloved Gryffindor to Slytherin House. "I was on my way to Transfiguration, and I took a nasty stumble in the hall. I tried my best to keep under control, but I lost it when this group of four years started laughing. Then it seemed like everyone was laughing. Then, before I knew it, he was there helping me up. And I was so surprised to see him stooping to collect all my things that I completely forgot why I was crying to begin with." In the firelight, it was all too easy to see the tears that threatened to spill, but she kept them in check, and refused to let them fall. "I don't recall much more beyond that beside the fact that he pulled a handkerchief out of nowhere, and sent me off to class with a handful of jelly beans."

Muffled laughter broke throughout the group.

Katie smiled as she looked up from the photograph in her hand. "I knew Dumbledore long before I started attending Hogwarts as a student. Both my brothers attended before me, and so I'd seen him several times along the way. And both of them played on their house Quidditch teams, so I always saw him at the matches. I recall the first time I actually spoke to him like it was just yesterday. My brother Finn was a Seeker for Hufflepuff while Avery was a Chaser for Ravenclaw, and it was a big family ordeal whenever their houses were playing against one another. I'm sure that if mom was still alive, she would've wrung dad's neck for encouraging it all, but she wasn't, and so it got worse every year." She smiled as if remembering dozens of spent afternoons.

"Dad and I were heading towards our seat when we ran across Professor Dumbledore. You see, dad knew him well back from his days at Hogwarts, and so they got to catching up, talking about the match, that sort of thing. And then he looked down at me. I was an impossibly tiny little thing, and I probably looked like a boy for all of the dirt on my clothes. But he smiled at me, and asked me who I was going to be cheering for that day. He laughed when I told him neither because I always rooted for Gryffindor, even when they weren't playing. Apparently, back then, it was a matter of principle for me because my mom was in Gryffindor. He laughed, and patted my head, and whispered to me that he did the very same thing. I felt like I was ten feet tall that day." And her voice broke. "And when I got sorted into Gryffindor years later, he winked at me. It was like a secret that he and I shared."

Angelina smiled and took Katie's hand in her own, and as if on cue, every head turned towards Fred and George. Even Livia complied, eager to hear their story, and the twins just smirked.

George took the lead. "I don't even know if I can recall when we first met Dumbledore."

"Yeah," Fred jumped in. "Bill's near eight years older than we are, so he was done with Hogwarts long before we started."

George nodded. "So we knew Dumbledore well before our first year. What with Bill being a prefect and Charlie playing Quidditch for Gryffindor." And then he smirked. "I think mum was always a little leery of us spending any extended periods of time around Dumbledore for fear that he would deny us acceptance to the school. But Fred and I were never afraid of that. We make a lovely first impression, don't we?"

"That we do," Fred exclaimed.

And then George's trademark smirk seemed to slowly, ever so slowly, fade off of his features, and he wrung his hands nervously. "But I...I do remember the last time we saw him." Livia watched as his eyes seemed to glaze over in thought.

Fred took the reins. "George and I had already dropped out of school, and were putting all of our time and energy into setting up the shop. But when we heard that Ron had made the team, we figured we had to fly out for his first game."

"He doesn't know that we saw him," George said, and glanced at Katie as if begging her with his eyes not to tell their youngest brother. She nodded her head in understanding. Their secret was safe with her.

"But we didn't think it fitting to pop by the school without taking a trip to Dumbledore's office- you know, for old times sake," Fred said, trying his best to usher in some semblance of sarcasm, but failing dismally. Somehow, the others understood. Humor was a part of his process, and they couldn't begrudge him that. At the moment, the old group of Hogwarts friends would've given just about anything to make the nightmare go away. But it refused to, and the truth of it was staring them in the face. So they left Fred to his jokes.

"He must have been happy to see you lot," Lee said, a wobbly smile on his face.

Fred turned his head to stare at the wall, and George assumed command. "You see, that's just it though. He looked like he was trying to be happy to see us, but it seemed like it was almost hurting him. He looked so tired and worn out and...ill. Like he was wasting away in front of us." His voice trembled. "In all my years, I've never seen him look anything less than unbeatable. Even though he was well past his prime. But that day, he looked his age."

Fred nodded. "And it was awful."

The room was silent for a moment before George spoke up again. "And I think that was when it hit us. That things were really going to get worse before they got better. He was sort of a sign, you know? Like this beacon of hope."

"And now it's gone," Angelina whispered, her voice drifting in the dark. Somewhere in the room, a candle flickered, and went out.

"You think he knew it was coming?" Katie asked suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I think he knew everything," Lee answered, his eyes firmly fixed on the pile of photographs and articles. "Maybe he didn't know it was going to be Snape that fixed him in the end, but I think that, on some level, he must have known."

"Snape!" Angelina muttered through gritted teeth. "If I ever see him again, I don't think I'll have the control to muster up a spell. I'll tear him apart with my bare hands, and..."

"And you'd be just as bad as he is," Katie said, effectively cutting off her best friend.

"Besides," Lee added after a moment. "I don't think Dumbledore would ever want us to do something like that. Even if it was to avenge him."

No one argued. No one needed to. Deep down, they all knew that Lee was right. Even if it were to avenge his death, they all knew that Dumbledore would have shaken his head in quiet disappointment if he saw them react in such a way.

But that didn't mean that they couldn't wish those things in their deepest of hearts.

Suddenly, George smiled. "Maybe we could just send Snape a toilet seat. I don't think Dumbledore would be opposed to that." Livia smiled as did the rest of them.

"With a box of Puking Pastilles," Fred added with a smirk while he stood to his feet, and made his way over to a dresser drawer where he began searching for something.

"A big box," Katie said, her smile growing.

Lee smiled in response. "Absolutely huge."

"With a gaudy, red bow on top," Angelina joked.

"I propose a toast," Fred started when he rejoined the circle, and he brandished the two sizable bottles of liquor. Livia noticed immediately that one of the bottles was a muggle brand, and she opened her mouth to ask where he got it, but thought better of it. "The old man was worth it, and it may be going against his wishes for us to dole out vengeance, I don't think he would be opposed to us honoring his memory in our own way."

Lee laughed. "Well, I do have it on good authority that Professor Dumbledore did enjoy a good Firewhiskey every now and again!"

"With Fred and George running around causing havoc, could you blame him?" Angelina joked, and Fred kissed her hair fondly.

George poured a bit of the whiskey into his tea, and the others followed suit. And while Livia wasn't much of a drinker (in direct contradiction to her very Irish muggle Grandfather), she poured a bit into her tea as well. And when George raised his glass, the rest of them followed. The room fell quiet as it seemed to be in the custom of doing on this particular night, and the crew naturally looked to George.

He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth. But he furrowed his eyebrows when no words tripped off his tongue.

Somehow, nothing seemed fitting. And so he said the only thing that came to mind.

"We'll miss you." And the clinking of glasses followed echoed by a chorus of 'To Dumbledore'. They emptied their respective glasses, and then stared at one another for a long moment.

Fred smiled. "You know, I think that if Dumbledore were here, he would have some words to say." And he glanced sideways at his twin who, in that way that solely belonged to them, immediately caught on. "He would say..."

"Nitwit!" George half shouted, and while Livia watched in a bit of disbelief, the others smiled.

"Blubber!" Angelina joined in, and a broken laugh followed.

Katie smiled. "Oddment!" she said, and this time, there were no tears.

They all turned as one to look at Lee who grinned widely before shouting "Tweak!" And the room erupted into subdued laughter and applause.

Livia couldn't help but wonder how different the atmosphere now seemed as opposed to when she first stepped into the flat. Everything had seemed drab and lifeless. But now, there was a quiet warmth. Part of it emanated from the candles that continued to flicker. But most of it came from the broken hearts of the people that had congregated on behalf of one teacher.

"You know, I saw him once." And as one, everyone turned their heads to look at Livia, and when no one interjected, she took that as a sign to continue. "Well, sort of." And she felt her stomach twist in embarrassment. "When I was thirteen, I stole one of Declan's chocolate frog cards. Turns out it was Dumbledore's." She cleared her throat, suddenly wondering why she had spoken up to begin with. "And he s-smiled at me." The others waited patiently for the end of the story. "Um...th-that's it."

There was a moment of incalculable silence, and while it didn't last all that long, it was long enough to make Livia wish that she were standing at the edge of a conveniently placed cliff side. One suitable for jumping off of.

Suddenly, Angelina burst into laughter, loud and uncontrollable. At the sound of it, Fred couldn't help but join in. Katie and Lee erupted into choked laughs seconds later. Livia glanced at George who was still sitting beside her, and he stared back with a clear look of pure amusement. And when his own laughter came bubbling from his chest and out of his mouth, she felt her own lips pull into a grin, and she couldn't help but join in. The group laughed, and then cried from their laughter, and then simply cried, and then laughed again.

The tea eventually ran out. The liquor soon after that.

* * *

Somewhere between the first cup of tea and the last glass of Firewhiskey, the group had begun to dwindle down. Around one am, Fred slinked away from the others, and crashed into his bedroom. A chair was knocked over in the process, but they were far too incoherent to notice. That is, except for Livia who had kept her drinking to a minimum, and righted the chair once Fred had cleared the room. Despite the surprising amounts of whiskey that he had consumed, Lee was surprisingly clear headed, and he mumbled that he would see Angelina safely home before he and Katie stumbled out of the door.

And then it became undeniably clear that Livia and George were the only two left.

He glanced at her.

She looked at him. And she watched his eyelids begin to droop under the weight of the alcohol, under the weight of one am, and under the weight of all his grief.

"How are you doing over there?" she asked, careful to keep her voice at a minimum for fear of waking Fred.

George shrugged. "Not too bad," he answered. "I've never been a huge drinker. Easier for me to leave that bit to Lee and Fred. They had the stomach for it." He smiled. "You know, in second year, Lee managed to sneak in a bit of spiked butterbeer. On its own, the stuff won't make a toddler tipsy. But he must've had it mixed with Ogden's because it worked like a bloody charm. And before the morning was out, I had kissed three Gryffindor girls, two Hufflepuff girls, and one Slytherin."

Livia smirked. "A Slytherin girl?"

His face twisted in amusement and disgust. "Don't be a git. Of course it was a girl."

"Sorry. But I thought part needed a bit of clarification. You never know with these sorts of things." And when she laughed, he couldn't help but join in, but when the laughter died down, he felt his glance pull towards her again. She kept her eyes on the floor.

"So you haven't written in a while," he said curiously, his voice shaky from the alcohol. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on her while she did her best to keep her eyes on everything but him. She was dangerously close to succeeding until her will betrayed her, and her eyes found his.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said quietly. "It's been...busy this past week. Lots of things going on." The lie felt heavy on her lips when she spoke it, but she had no choice. Could she really admit that she had been the tiniest bit frightened when his hug had triggered such intense emotions? Could she really admit to him that, try as she might, her thoughts couldn't help but drift back to that moment? And that it hadn't stopped plaguing her mind since the Puddlemere match nearly two weeks earlier?

No. She couldn't. Lying wasn't the preferable route, but it was certainly the safest.

"And even today, I had to stop at the bookshop to give mum a hand. Crazy, you know?"

He regarded her for a moment before he answered "Yeah." She went back to staring at her hands, and cursed herself for being so bad at lying. It came so naturally to Declan. Just one more thing that she could loathe him for. And the little monster used his natural born talents quite often, playing her parents like a child's fiddle. Livia had never been that fortunate.

A small smile broke out on George's face. "Well, don't let it be another two weeks before I see you again. Believe it or not, I've grown accustomed to the sound of you stumbling throughout the shop, and two days ago, I was so lonesome for you that I knocked over an entire display of fireworks." His voice was dripping with his typical sarcasm, and she rolled her eyes. "And for a moment," he said, his eyes far off and dreamy. "It was almost like you were right there with me."

And try as she might, she couldn't keep the smile from breaking. "Idiot," she said under her breath.

She heard him laugh in return, but then immediately took notice when his laughter trailed off, and was replaced by a loaded sigh. And her heart went out to him. For a moment, she contemplated patting him on the back, but then she thought better of it. It didn't seem appropriate.

After a few moments, he looked up at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed like whatever it was he wanted to say was proving to be a bit of a challenge for him. She felt her throat constrict in fear. "I know I really have no right to ask you to do this for me," Her eyes opened wide. "But I just can't bare the thought of going alone."

She blinked. "Going...where?"

He sighed. "Funeral." It was all he said, and all he needed to say.

"You want me to attend his funeral with you?"

He ran a tired hand through his hair. "I know. It's a strange thing for me to ask. And I probably have no business to be asking. But it's going to be quite the affair. I know it will. And I just don't want to have to go...by myself."

"But Fred," she started, but George shrugged.

"He'll be with Angelina. And it's best, you know? They need each other now, and it's just the way he is." She opened her mouth to offer another suggestion, but he cut her off. "Lee will be with Katie. Mum and dad will be together. Everyone will have _someone_ there to...take the edge off, you know? And you...you have this way of..." He stumbled with the words. "You just have this way of calming me down. Making my head less fuzzy."

She wrung her hands. "I...I've never been to a funeral," she said weakly.

And he had the sense to smile at her. "Well, I'm not saying let's make it an event to remember, but if you're going to go your first, his is the one you want to go to. He was a good man."

"A good wizard," she offered.

And he nodded. "And see? There's another reason why you should go with me. I've made it my personal mission to open your eyes to all things wizard." He tried to make his voice light and sarcastic despite the dreary conversation.

And she smirked. "Yeah, well, maybe you can omit funerals and the like from any future endeavors, if you please."

He nodded once again, agreeing with her 'demand'.

And she blanched when he took her hand in his. "You won't be the only muggle if that's what you're worried about. Dumbledore was a well known muggle supporter, and I'm positive that there will be a fair share that attend." She swallowed hard, and opened her mouth to protest one more time when his shoulders sagged and the corners of lips fell downward. "Please? These sorts of things are just easier when you have good friends with you."

And her eyes widened. Not enough for him to notice, but enough for her to feel it. A good friend? She was a good friend?

And in spite of the situation, she felt her heart swell. Yes. They were friends. Livia Daly and George Weasley were good friends. And although the sentiment had never been expressed in the time that they had known each other, they were admitting it now. He had called her a good friend, and he was asking her, as a good friend, to be his support.

And she, as a good friend, wouldn't dare deny him of that.

She squeezed his hand. "Of course I'll go." And she smiled reassuringly. "You can count on me, George."

He knew that she spoke the truth, and he sighed in relief.

* * *

**End Note: So there we are. I'm sorry I had to throw such a sad chapter, but it simply had to be done. I did my best to balance it out though. Hopefully, it took! Typically, I would take time here at the end of the chapter to plead with you to review. haha. But somehow, that doesn't seem to be working. ;) **

**...**

**Oh hang it all! Review!**

**:) See you soon!**

**-V.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: The characters of _Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: First off, let me start by saying that I'm terribly sorry for the delay in updates. School is effectively kicking my tail. And even though there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and college will soon be but a memory, it's still very much present now. So I'm having to deal. I wanted to have this up yesterday, but it wasn't going to happen. :( But I suppose it is better late than never, right? **

**Second off, I just want to say how awesome all of you are. The last two chapters have exploded with such wonderful reviews, and I've received countless alert subscriptions as well as countless 'favorite story' adds. Thank you so much. I'm so stoked that you are all liking the story, and are actually sticking around to see how it ends. There were almost twenty reviews for chapters five and six, and that is crazy awesome! So once again, thank you!**

**Last but not least, it's finally upon us. The dreaded funeral chapter. I knew it was coming. You knew it was coming. I didn't want to write it, and you probably don't want to read it. But I promise that once this sad chapter is out of the way, I will make room for more upbeat chapters. And there will be plenty more George, Livia, Fred, and that skunk Declan. I hope the characters don't seem too...out of character this chapter. They are in a sensitive situation, and so I think it calls for a little less humor. But you will be the ultimate judge. Hope I haven't scared you. Haha. **

**Well, without further ado, on with the show!**

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* * *

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**Chapter Seven**

_Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality. _

-Emily Dickinson

"I'm coming!" Zoe shouted to her empty apartment when the knocking at her door turned into full fledged banging, and although she did eventually make it to the door, she took her sweet time in getting there. "Liv?" she said, surprise evident in her voice. "What are..."

"No time to talk," Livia said as she pushed past her best friend in desperation. Zoe's stomach fell to the ground in an instant, and she swallowed in fear. But she had barely a moment to register the dry-cleaning bags in Livia's hands before Livia threw them at her in a panic. "Which one?"

Zoe blinked, and then glared at the offending bags of clothing. "Which one what?"

"Which one should I wear? It's a funeral," she said, her voice gaining volume as she continued. "What do you wear to a funeral?" Her voice was loaded with panic, and Zoe cocked her head.

"Funeral?" she asked. "Whose fu..." And when realization hit her, she nodded her head quietly. "Right." She remembered quite vividly whose funeral Livia was attending. "Well, what did you wear to last funeral you attended?" she asked, trying terribly to make the conversation less awkward. She was beyond used to doling out fashion advice to her closest friend, but typically, the occasions weren't of the somber sort.

Livia blanched. "I've never been to a funeral hence my inability to choose a suitable outfit myself."

Zoe tore open the bags, and began sifting through the clothes. "We've gone to the club plenty of times, an' ya still can't manage to dress yourselves for that either," she muttered to herself. Livia wasted no time shoving Zoe roughly.

"All right!" the Jamaican squib said with a grunt. Glancing at her red headed companion, she couldn't help but soften. The girl looked like a wreck. "You really worried bout this thing?" she asked, her accent pushing through. Livia nodded weakly.

"I can't go there looking like a mess," she said. "I just can't. I don't want to..." And then she stopped.

Zoe waited all of six seconds before her dazzling lack of patience got the best of her. "What? You don't want to what?"

Livia heaved a loaded sigh, and stared at the wall behind Zoe's head. "I don't want to stick out."

"Is that it?" Zoe asked, pulling apart the different articles of clothing. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?" she asked with an unoffensive laugh. "Your hair does nothing but draw attention." And after grimacing at a particular blouse, she tossed it over her shoulder like it was a dishrag. But when Livia didn't respond, Zoe glanced up at her. The red head's eyes were sad. Much too sad.

And then Zoe understood.

She abandoned the clothes, crossed the distance between herself and Livia, and wrapped her arms around the girl. "They aren't going to _know_ you're a squib. It's not like you have it tattooed on your forehead." And she felt Livia's arms circle around her in response, grateful for the reassurance.

After a moment, the girls pulled apart, and Zoe returned to the pile of clothes. Livia inhaled deeply before plopping herself unceremoniously on the bed. Zoe peeked at her from the corner of her eye. "I don' understand why this means so much now, though. S' not like you ever cared before. An' you've been around wizards an' witches before."

"I've never been to the highly publicized funeral of one of the most powerful wizards in the entire world," she said, huffing loudly. "It's supposed to be quite the event. Everyone who is anyone in the wizarding world is going to be there."

"Whose everyone?" Zoe asked. After a moment of silence, Livia shrugged her shoulders. "See? What do you care if _everyone who is anyone_ shows up! You're worth twice as much as half of them." She narrowed her eyes. "And if that George boy makes you feel small, even for a second, I'm gonna..."

Livia laughed. "Don't worry about George. I think he quit thinking of me as a squib a long time ago." She paused to look through a nearby fashion magazine. "Actually, he and I haven't talked at all since he asked me to go to the funeral with him. Well, if you don't count the owl he send me Tuesday morning to tell me where he would meet me."

Fortunately for Livia, whose nose was still in the magazine, she completely missed Zoe's raised eyebrow. Unfortunately for her, Zoe was nearly impossible to ignore for long. She made quite sure of that.

"So you haven't talked to him since then, huh?" And Livia could almost visualize the smirk. "Maybe that's the problem."

She rolled her eyes when Zoe laughed teasingly at her, and flipped through another page of the magazine trying her best to appear unshakable. "No. That's not the problem," she said coolly. "He's not required to write me. He's just a friend, Zoe. We talk the appropriate amount for friends, and neither of us are interested in anything beyond that. It's ridiculous for you to even suggest it!"

"Right."

That was all that Zoe offered in the way of a reply, but Livia was two steps ahead of the girl. She felt her lips pull into a smirk. "But you know, the two of _you_ would hit it off perfectly. I can introduce you if you'd like."

Zoe snorted in a completely unladylike like way, and returned Livia's off the wall suggestion with a smirk of her own. "Yeah, he wishes, but I don't date white boys!" she shot back, her voice teasing, and waved around a horrid little black number like it was horribly offensive. "What is this thing?" Livia took the question to be Zoe's way of saying that the conversation was officially over, and she was all too glad to move on from it.

* * *

As if the waters themselves were in mourning, the lake besides Hogwarts School was still and quiet. Almost peaceful. Almost pleasant.

Almost.

Livia couldn't help but rake her eyes over the enormous crowds around her. The Puddlemere game had been a sight to behold, and spectacular in its own right. But this was entirely different. At first, she supposed that it was amazing to her simply because she had so little experience with matters pertaining to the wizarding world. That was, after all, her parents area of expertise. Not hers.

But afterwards, she couldn't help but reason that the event would've enthralled her whether or not she was a squib. And as she and George made their way through the crowds of mourners, she found herself staring down at the dress that Zoe had let her borrow, and she suddenly felt incredibly foolish. She had been so entirely wrapped up in finding something suitable to wear to a funeral that she didn't particularly want to attend that she forgot whose funeral she was attending or why she was attending it at all.

She was there to support a good friend in his time of sorrow. And the day was dedicated to the memory of a man that she had never met, and had barely seen once in an enchanted trading card. The man had undoubtedly affected her life whether or not she had known it at the time.

That realization suddenly made the 'dress' fiasco seem rather foolish. And it made her seem rather foolish as well.

She glanced around at the sea of faces around her, and saw tears. Tears everywhere. And her heart broke a tiny a bit. Men. Women. Children. Muggles or otherwise. They were all shedding tears of pain and remembrance for a man that they would never see again. And she couldn't help but feel the pangs of regret in her stomach. No doubt most, if not all, of these people knew Dumbledore personally. They had entertained long friendships with him. They had made him laugh, or had been rescued by him. They had been taught by him, or had fought beside him. He had held their hand, and he had talked with them about books or music or the weather or nothing or everything.

She had never done anything of that. She would never do any of that. And the thought suddenly made her very sad. More sad than she had been in a long, long time. And her heart ached for the dearly departed.

The simple tap from George on her shoulder caused her to jump. "I see my family over there. Do you want to...?" The sentence trailed off, but she knew more or less what he was asking. She nodded once, but then couldn't deny the rush of butterflies she felt in the pit of her stomach. For all of the panic she felt while trying to find suitable clothing to wear, she had completely forgot that she would most likely be meeting George's family at the funeral. How could she have possibly missed that?

She followed him numbly, and looked down at her outfit once again. The dress was simple enough, but surprisingly elegant at the same time. It rested a few inches below her knees, and didn't hug her uncomfortably. The sleeves were long and fitted, and neck came together in a tiny v-line. The tips of her shoulders could be seen through the patches of fine black lace, and the hood in the back of the dress completed the ensemble. The dress was more Zoe's style. Not at all like the dresses that she had hanging in her closet. Zoe had enjoyed a hearty laugh when she perused through Livia's choices, but in all honesty, the red head could hardly be blamed. Black wasn't a color that she entertained all that often, and funeral appropriate attire wasn't something that she took into consideration. She had never been to a funeral. Ever.

Not even her grandfather's. Her thoughts drifted back to the day of his funeral, and she could see a startlingly clear image of a twelve year old Livia curled up on her bed crying rivers of tears for the only member of her family that had ever shown her true unfailing love. He had been a muggle, same as she, and while he understood the dynamics of the wizarding world as well as any wizard or witch in his family, he empathized with Livia's toil. And he loved her all the more for it. He was the one that attended her and Zoe's one (and only) concert when they had come to the childish conclusion that they wanted to be rock stars. He was the one who had attended her one (and only) play when she had decided that her life's ambition was to be a world renowned actress. The play was a neighborhood production of 'Jack and the Beanstalk'. She had played the cow. Understandably, after that fiasco, she tossed that dream out of the window as well.

And her grandfather had been the only one to attend her dance recitals. All of them. Every single one. Including dress rehearsals, and the occasional practice when he could make it. He had been her rock. And in many ways, perhaps she had been his. But it had all come crashing around her in thousands of sharp, tiny pieces when he passed in the night. And although she had so adored the man, who in many ways had been a father to her, she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye to him. Goodbye seemed to final, and not at all fitting. So while the rest of her family attended the funeral, and then watched as his body was committed to the ground, Livia stayed curled in bed, her hair fixed, her clothes black and mournful, her shoes on her dainty feet. She cried and screamed for a miracle until her throat was raw, and then she wept and called broken goodbyes into the air around her.

She shook her head to clear it from its train of thought, and her eyes widened in surprise when she felt tears shake loose from her eyes. She had been crying? She wiped the evidence from her face as quickly as she could, not entirely in the mood to explain herself. It seemed a bit inappropriate to be crying over the death of her grandfather eight years prior while attending the funeral of a man who had died merely days before.

"Oh, George dear," she heard from somewhere in front of her, and she picked her head up. A reasonably short woman with ginger hair approached George, and clung to him tightly. Livia could hear the muffled sniffles from the woman, and watched as George rubbed the woman's back softly.

'His mother,' Livia thought to herself. It was unquestionable. This was the unsinkable Molly Weasley, matriarch of the Weasley clan, and a woman that Livia couldn't help but admire even though she virtually knew nothing about her. But from the way that the twins spoke about her, she was clearly a force to be reckoned with. But in a beautiful way. Livia looked behind George's mother, and saw a man standing by watching the scene. His face was sad, but controlled at the same time, and while his hair was just as red as his wife's, it was his eyes that made him stand out to Livia. 'So,' she thought to herself once again. 'George and Fred have their father's eyes.'

After a few moments, Molly regained her composure, and extracted herself from her son's arms. "I was beginning to think that you were going to be late, and I was afraid we wouldn't be able to save you a spot near us." She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

George smiled at his mother, but it was plain to Livia that the smile was a bit pained. And once again, her heart went out to him, and then she quickly berated herself. So far, she was doing a shoddy job at being his support. The whole reason she had come was to offer a friend a bit of much needed support, and so far, all she had managed to do was sulk over her own loss. "Yeah, it took a bit longer for us to get here than I anticipated," he answered. As if the word 'us' triggered George and his mother, the two of them turned to see Livia still standing to the side awkwardly. George shook his head. "How stupid of me." He gestured for Livia to come closer, and she did automatically. "Mum, this is Livia, my friend from the shop."

Livia smiled weakly at the woman in front of her, but her eyes widened to the size of saucers when Molly pulled her in for a warm embrace. "It's so lovely to get to meet you, dear. It's a shame that it had to be today of all days. But it's wonderful of you to come and share it with us." She choked a sob, and Livia's eyes watered. "It means so much to us. And it would mean so much to him."

At first, Livia thought that Molly was talking about George, but then realization hit her right between the eyes. Dumbledore.

Without thinking, Livia felt her arms wrap around the woman as well, and though she chided herself for it, she couldn't help but think to herself 'So this is what it feels like.'

After a moment, the two pulled apart, and Livia ran a sleeve across her eyes quickly. And even though the occasion was solemn, Molly smiled at her. "Aren't you a pretty little thing!" she said boldly, and Livia laughed in spite of herself. "And look at this hair, daddy," she called over her shoulder to her husband. Arthur stepped up to join the group. "Ginger as the day is long. You'll fit in well with us," Molly said with a pleasant smile although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Indeed," Arthur replied. And he held his hand out towards the girl. "Arthur Weasley. It's wonderful to meet you." And Livia felt deep down that he meant it. She smiled at him, and returned the hand shake.

"It's a pleasure meeting you both," she said, her accent quite distinct among all of the chatter around her. "I've heard so many wonderful things about you." Molly smiled at her son. Livia opened her mouth to continue, but stopped when she saw a familiar face appear beside her, and her eyes crossed immediately. "Declan?"

George watched as the boy in question stared up at his sister with obvious confusion and detest etched across his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked rudely, not taking into consideration the fact that there were other people around. But before she had a chance to respond, she turned her head and swallowed hard. "Mum. Dad."

And George couldn't help but look up quickly. He hadn't heard an awful lot from Livia regarding her parents. He just knew that there was...tension. But after she and George's initial few meetings at the shop, she had stopped talking about them. She never went into detail. And he never asked.

Mr. Daly was tall. That was the first thing that George noticed. The man was tall, and it served as a striking contrast against his daughter who was barely average height. His hair was a tousled and curly brown, and he was exceptionally average in appearance. George suspected that maybe he would have been considered 'dashing' in his younger days. But now, he simply looked worn out. George couldn't help but be drawn in by Mr. Daly's eyes, but not because they were lively. He was drawn to them because they were not. He regarded his daughter quietly, and his face was expressionless.

Mrs. Daly was something else entirely. Her hair was tinged with the faint traces of ginger, and George could immediately see that Livia resembled her mother in nearly every way. They had the same green eyes, the same heart shaped face, and the same pout to their lips. She was fair skinned just like her daughter, and she was clearly where Livia had received the genes that had dictated how tall she would be. She was small standing next to her husband, but somehow, she didn't seem like she noticed. Her eyes, unlike her husband's, weren't empty. No. They were very much alive. And very much cold. It was from this woman that Livia had also received the genes that had fashioned her without a shred of magical ability to claim. And it was from this woman that Livia had received the full force of her shame at having to be raised a muggle in a family full of wizards and witches.

Mrs. Daly looked obviously confused when she saw her one and only daughter standing in front of her. "Livia, what on earth are you doing here?" George noted that her voice sounded remarkably similar to Livia's, but was more mature. Her accent, however, was far less pronounced.

Livia stuttered for a moment before she found her words. "I'm here with George," she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. "You remember me mentioning my friend from the alley." The woman's eyes shifted from her daughter to the tall ginger boy standing beside her, and she nodded.

Mr. Daly cleared his throat. "If...if we'd have known that you were coming as well, we would've invited you along with us," he stated, and George immediately knew that her strong accent was all a product of her father. But the words were flat, and fell to the ground between them. And even George knew that what he said wasn't true.

"Yeah." It was all Livia offered by way of reply.

"Come Declan. We need to find our seats before there aren't any left," Mrs. Daly said, gesturing for her son to join her at her side. Declan, who had yet to say anything, sneered up at his sister as if she were a bug on the bottom of his shoe, turned on his heels, and joined his parents.

"Good day to you all," Mr. Daly said, tipping his head at the Weasleys to which they nodded back. And just like that, the Daly family was gone.

The air around Livia suddenly felt heavy as if it was too thick for breathing. She inhaled deeply, and tried desperately to calm the pounding in her chest. No matter how she spun the situation in her head, there was no way around it. She was utterly humiliated.

Fortunately, she missed the look that passed between Molly and Arthur before Molly stepped forward and placed her hands on Livia's shoulders. "Come dear, we've got plenty of us seats saved. Perks of having a big family. Why don't you and George join us?"

Livia nodded quietly, and George was fully aware that she avoided his eyes.

* * *

From their seats, Livia could more or less see the small wizard who presided over the funeral, and she watched his lips as they shifted and moved. If asked later, she would say that the wizard had done a lovely job conducting the funeral, and that he had said lovely things about Dumbledore. Those are the things that she would have said.

Unfortunately, as she watched his lips dance in the strange way that only lips while words of a sad nature are pouring out of them, she didn't hear anything that he said. She was far too busy taking it all in. Deep down, she suspected that her inability to focus was purely selfish, and that a far better person would've kept their attentions limited to the man who stood beside the body of Hogwart's former headmaster and spoke to those in attendance about all of the brilliant and wonderful things that Dumbledore had done. But she couldn't focus. Simply put, her brain was on a sort of overload.

The looks that her parents had given her were enough to send her into a bit of a tailspin. If she had stupid in neglecting to consider the fact that George's parents were going to be at the funeral, than she was an utter fool for neglecting to consider her own. How had she not stopped to consider when and how she would come across them? And of course, she _had_ to run into them. Fate wouldn't allow otherwise. And after Molly and Arthur had treated her so warmly, her parents could only muster cold civility towards the Weasleys. She had been completely humiliated, and pieces of herself that she had tried so hard to keep hidden from George were suddenly on parade for all to see.

But the Weasleys. Somehow, Arthur and Molly brought a much needed balance to the entire debacle. She hadn't anticipated that they would treat her so nicely. In fact, she hadn't really thought about them much at all. She knew that George thought highly of them both, and that alone forced her to respect them. But she was almost immediately endeared to Arthur once he smiled so disarmingly at her. And Molly's hug. Livia briefly thought about Ginny, and could only imagine that it must have been a delight growing up as Molly Weasley's only daughter.

Livia's eyes drifted over the crowds. Everyone was dressed quite nicely, but their faces were sullen and morose at best. At their worst, they looked like the elderly woman in the front row. At the beginning of the service, George had whispered to Livia that the woman was Professor McGonagall. Livia's eyebrows rose in surprise. She was quite familiar with the woman, but in name only. She was Declan's transfiguration professor. Livia had always imagined her tight lipped and sharp. But at the moment, the poor woman looked anything but held together. She looked as though she was coming apart at the seams.

The burly giant-looking man that had carried Dumbledore's body down the aisle looked even more distraught than McGonagall did, if that was at all possible. Even though he was quite large and towered over most everyone in attendance, he had a face that led Livia to believe that he was quite gentle and perhaps even lighthearted. His was a kind face. But at the moment, his face was hidden behind mounds of tissues. He clearly loved the headmaster dearly, and even though the sight of such a large man in tears was a bit out of the ordinary, Livia felt it was rather appropriate. The man laying on the slab was none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And if any man deserved the heart felt tears from a giant, than it was surely him.

In fact, most of the people in attendance seemed to be crying. All except for one painfully straight faced woman. Livia barely knew the woman in question, and already, she wanted to yank all of the perfectly pinned blond hair from her head. The woman needed no introduction, but George gave it just the same. Rita Skeeter. The woman was an absolute snake. And even though this was the first time that Livia had ever seen her, she knew well the woman's reputation. It was obvious, even to little ol' squib Livie, that Rita was only at the funeral to gather information that she would later use to promote her own horrid career. And the woman couldn't even muster the strength to look sad. She looked strangely...bored.

Suddenly, Livia's attentions were jerked, and she turned to George.

"What...what is that noise?" she whispered, trying her best to keep as still as possible.

George regarded her for a moment before leaning down, and whispered "Fawkes." She looked back at him, and shrugged her shoulders. As if the boy didn't know her well enough by now to know that most everything wizard related needed some sort of explanation. If it was commonplace to him, then it was most certainly not to her. His mouth found her ear once more. "Fawkes was Dumbledore's phoenix. He's been with the professor for...well, as long as I've known Dumbledore. And Fawkes was with him for much longer than that."

She nodded, and tried to process the idea that alongside all of his other great exploits, Dumbledore also kept a phoenix for a pet. Then she glanced back at George. "And that's the sound a phoenix makes?"

George's eyes met hers. "When its heartbroken."

And her breath caught in her throat. Of course. How could she not have noticed it sooner. The sound of despair. The sound of mourning. The sound of utter hopelessness. No, she had never seen or heard a phoenix before. And she wondered briefly if she ever would again. But as she listened to Fawkes sing in a way that made her heart hurt, she knew deep down that she recognized the sound. It sounded just like she had when she had curled up in bed and wept for her Grandfather.

* * *

**End note: So there you go. It's like yanking off a band-aid. It sucks now. But...well...yeah, that's where the metaphor ends. Haha. So lemme know what you thought. I promise. Next chapter will be happier. I will be rewarding all of your for getting through this chapter and the last one. Since chapters six and seven were both of the sad variety, chapter eight will be...very exciting. ;) Can't say more than that! Stay tuned all of you wonderful people! And have a fabulous week!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: So I've obviously had to abandon my sturdy goal to update once every weekend. I begin teaching a seventh grade Lang/Arts class next week, so needless to say, the last couple of weeks have been nuts. But this story is still going strong. Don't you worry about that. It's just going a little more slowly than in the beginning. It'll probably be more realistic to say one update every week and a half to two weeks. But if I can find the time, I'll be shooting updates as frequently as I can. Your responses and reactions to the last few chapters have been amazing, and I'm beyond appreciative. I'm having so much fun writing this story, and it makes even all the more worth while to know that people are enjoying it as well. **

**I like shout-outs. They're good fun! And while I like to try and respond to all of my reviews, I simply haven't had the time lately. So a HUGE THANK YOU to all of you who reviewed chapters six and seven: Whatever Makes You Break, FredsLastLaugh, quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, Charlie167, Dreamcloud123, theideaofyou, porque te quiero, amberhathaway, nonicasweet, LaLa-036, better-off-believing, HellNOKitty, Dani-Dani-Dani, .heaRt, and RoseblossomWarrior. I do hope that I didn't leave anyone out, and if I did, I sincerely apologize! You all are awesome, and this chapter is for you!**

**I should probably stop talking, and let you get on to reading. haha. So as promised, a happier chapter. A much happier when juxtaposed against the last two. And I had an absolute blast writing this one. Hope you enjoy reading it!**

**Now, onto the show!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_"Oh, you're the best friends anybody ever had. And it's funny, but I feel as if I'd known you all the time, but I couldn't have, could I?"_  
_-Dorothy Gale, "The Wizard of Oz"_

Somewhere in the back of his head, George could hear the words that the smallish wizard was saying. Words about Dumbledore. Words describing his high moral character. Words detailing his exploits. Words commending his efforts to solidify the standings between wizards and muggles. Words hailing his triumphs over the darkness. But to George, the words sounded a bit fuzzy as if the ends of some words were melding into the beginnings of others. And in truth, some of them were almost bothersome. What sort of words could you use to describe a man who had lived the life that Dumbledore had? What sort of labels could you attach to a person who had done the things that he had done? His presence alone had come to mean the difference between peace and destruction at Hogwarts, and now his presence was gone. Stolen. Taken. And the thought made George pause. What would happen to Hogwarts School? For all intents and purposes, the castle had been George's home for the better part of seven years, and it pained him deeply to think that the school would find itself in dire straits. Maybe George's time at Hogwarts at ended on a somewhat negative note, but he held no ill will towards it. Or even against its staff. Except Snape. That odious rat, that vile pretender, would get his in the end. And of course, George detested that loathsome Umbridge although fate had been slightly more kind in her case giving her more or less got what she deserved. However, given the circumstances, George rather wished that Professor Dumbledore had not prevented the centaurs from giving Umbridge what she _really_ deserved.

His eyes turned up, and he glanced at the centaurs. Despite tense relations between the creatures and the world of men, even they had managed to attend the professor's funeral as a sign of their respect for him. And George shook his head without really knowing why. No one would ever come to represent hope the way that Dumbledore had. His shoes were simply too big to fill, and judging by the hushed sobs that George could hear throughout the crowds, he wasn't the only one who knew it.

There was a subdued whisper in the air, hidden perhaps underneath Fawkes' mournful cries. And it said that the world was about to get much darker. George swallowed hard. As much as he enjoyed the perks of being an independent adult and having the freedoms to make his own way in life, he couldn't help but wish, just for a moment, that he was a child once more. Children had the luxury of making their problems magically fade away just by shutting their eyes tightly. Independent adults did not. And try as he might, shutting his eyes did absolutely nothing to dull the pain in his chest. Or rather, his heart.

His shoulders heaved with a loaded sigh. But then his eyes snapped open when he felt Livia's fingers intertwine with his as her tiny hand slid quietly into his own. He stared at their joined hands for a moment before slowly raising his eyes to meet hers. Her cheeks were wet, and he could easily understand why. Even if you hadn't met the man, the memorial service was enough to make you feel downcast and maybe even the tiniest bit lost.

While he hadn't thought it possible, the tears made her eyes seem even more green and piercing. And he imagined for a moment that if he shut his own eyes nearly closed and peeked at her through his dark lashes, two flashing emeralds would have appeared where her irises should have been. Immediately, he chided himself for thinking such horribly inappropriate things at a funeral, and Dumbledore's funeral no less. Fortunately, he didn't very much to think on her eyes at all. She regarded him for a tiny moment before turning her attentions back on the man presiding over the funeral, and George followed suit. But his mind, for the moment at least, was somewhere else entirely.

It seemed that in all of the mess of the day, Livia had slipped from his mind. Of course, _he_ had been the one to invite her in the first place, and although he would never outright ask her, he could have guessed that she would've agreed with him that had he not asked her to come, then no one else would have. Declan certainly wouldn't have. And her parents.

Meeting them had been an experience in and of itself, and it was one that he had honestly been unprepared for. But deep down, he had a feeling that had he ample time to prepare for meeting them that it wouldn't have made much of a difference. Nothing could have prepared him for such...a cold pair of people. He glanced at Livia from the corner of his eye, and couldn't help but wonder how such an interesting and fiery girl could spring forth from such a numb set of parents. And he didn't have to know them to know them. It was all in their eyes. Mr. Daly looked only half present, but wasn't the sort of 'half present' that occurred because you were at a funeral for a good man who shouldn't have died. It was the sort of 'half present' that occurred when you wished for a different life, any other life, as long as it didn't resemble your own. The man was unhappy. It was plain to see. And Mrs. Daly. Having grown up with Molly Weasley had left George a bit spoiled where mothers were concerned. When he was a child, it just seemed natural to him that mothers should always love their children unreservedly and would display that unrelenting love by putting their children over themselves. Just as Molly had done. But he had been a bit naïve in thinking that, and he often thought about women like Narcissa Malfoy in comparison to his own mother. But even though the tight lipped woman could never hold a candle to his own mother, George suspected that she had a special sort of love for Draco. The sort that she had to keep hidden away from prying eyes for its own protection. And even though George disliked the woman on principal, he could muster up a tiny bit of respect for her icy demeanor. Even if she was a Malfoy, a mother's love was a mother's love- however misguided.

But Mrs. Daly didn't look like the type of woman who loved her daughter in a strangely misguided way. She had looked down on Livia. Like a bother. Like a hindrance. And the face that she made reminded George of Molly smelling a bit of spoiled milk. It was all a bit unsettling for him, and he imagined it had been for his parents as well.

But he couldn't possibly fathom what it had been like for Livia. The word 'humiliation' sprang to his mind, but somehow, he didn't think that it summed the situation up well enough. She had handled it well enough though, he though. Or at least, she brushed it all deep enough under the carpet that it didn't seem to be bothering her now.

Thankfully, his own parents were more than civil to her. In fact, he had been a bit surprised by their gentleness. Of course, he had been an absolute prat to completely overlook the fact that by inviting Livia to attend the funeral with him, he had been ultimately pushing her to meet his family. And he couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit ashamed. He had literally thrown her to the wolves without a warning, and he had been foolish in doing so. But for all of his carelessness, the whole thing unfolded rather swimmingly. He wasn't a complete nutter. His parents were obviously caught off guard by her appearance there having had no indication whatsoever that he had even considered asking her to attend. But he had asked her, and she had said yes. And rather than shoot him questionable (and perhaps even horribly embarrassing) looks over the top of Livia's head, they simply shrugged the whole thing off, and welcomed her. And boy, did they ever welcome her. He would never have guessed that his mother would throw caution to the wind like she did, and just throw her arms around Livia.

But it was a sad day, and anything was possible. And while his father didn't respond in exactly the same way that his mother had, George could easily tell that both of his parents appreciated that this strange little ginger muggle would show enough concern for their son to attend a very publicized funeral for a very important wizard.

And it was just that. A show of her concern for him. She had expressed her anxiety regarding funerals, but she had come just the same.

What was it that she had said? 'You can count on me, George.'

He had counted on her, and she had certainly come through. Here she was with her hand in his. No expectation. No complication. Just a friend helping out another friend. Yes. She was a good friend.

A dear friend.

And he had yet to tell her how beautiful she looked.

The thought came and went as swiftly as lightning, and left his head spinning in its wake. Where in the world had that come from? As if a funeral was the sort of place where one received compliments for their attire. What complete and utter nonsense.

'But very true nonsense,' he heard his thoughts bounce back at him, and this time, he didn't attempt to beat them back with a stick. After all, in all of the months that he had known her, he had never seen her dressed like this. She was strictly a jeans sort of girl. And most of the time, it was ripped jeans. Ripped with use and old age. Yes, jeans and t-shirts or long sleeved sweaters or trendy blouses or cotton button ups. But never a classy black dress. Never clever little heels.

If he hadn't been currently sitting in attendance at a funeral and therefore very conscious of the need to keep quiet, he would've scoffed aloud at his own foolishness. He was a grown man after all. A business man, in fact. And grown business men were allowed to have friends of the female persuasion, and they were certainly allowed to tell those friends that they looked nice. Especially after he hadn't made much of an effort to see or talk to said friend after he asked her for this rather significant favor.

'Yeah,' he thought to himself. 'I'm allowed to tell her that she looks nice.' And the thought felt well and settled.

Or at least until a counter thought arose from somewhere in the back of his psyche. 'Yeah, but you're not allowed to tell her that she looks stunning. And that's what you want to say, isn't it?'

George paused as he allowed his rampant thoughts to catch up with him. Stunning? Who said anything about stunning? All he had wanted was to tell her that she looked nice. And suddenly, his mind had taken hold of all its faculties, and he was being dragged along for the ride. Once again, he fought the urge to scoff.

Needing to focus his attention on something other than the woman sitting next to him, he turned his gaze towards Fred who sat planted on his left. Angelina sat to the left of Fred, and beyond her sat Katie and Lee. They were all seated very evenly, boy, girl, boy, girl, and the whole thing reminded George of his first year at primary.

But then George's eyebrows furrowed. Katie had Lee's hand clasped tightly in her own, and the way that he leaned into her so comfortably led George to believe that what they had all thought was inevitable between Katie and Lee had finally happened. Grief had a particular way of bringing people together. As if one cue, George's attentions shifted from one couple to the next, and like Lee and Katie, Fred held Angelina close to himself, her hands wrapped up in his. And when Angelina choked back a sob, George couldn't help but watch in interest as Fred pressed a comforting kiss to her temple. It was effortless. And as George watched her reel in her grief and sigh deeply, he surmised that one tiny kiss from Fred was all she needed. All the while, their hands were still clasped tightly.

George focused on his own hand, wrapped up gently in Livia's. Any passerby would have easily looked at the six of them, and guessed which ones were with which people. But he and Livia weren't like Lee and Katie. And he and Livia weren't like Fred and Angelina. He and Livia were like...he and Livia. And that was all. They were friends. She was a good friend of his who had come through for him when he needed her. And she was a good friend who looked rather stunning although she would never hear it from him.

Slowly, so as not to offend her, he pulled his hand out of her grasp.

* * *

_Later that evening..._

Livia glanced up at the sign marked 'The Leaky Cauldron' as she and George slowly made their way towards it. The memorial service had eventually come to a sad but sure end, and Livia's mind flashed briefly with the memory of Fawkes' sudden departure. And deep down, she knew that was the last that any of them would ever see the bird.

George had quietly escorted her back to Diagon Alley, insisting that the least he could do would be to walk her to flat instead, but she wouldn't hear of it. The poor bloke had had enough of a day without trying to make his way back through muggle London and to Charing Cross Road without her. Finally, he relented, and the two amiably made for the old pub.

Suddenly, George turned to face her when the sound of her stifled giggles reached his ears.

"What?"

She looked up, and had the sense to look a bit guilty. "Sorry," she said, still working to hush her laughter. "I just had a thought, that's all."

And that was certainly all she cared to offer, but George was far from satisfied now that his interest was perked. He smirked. "Care to share with the rest of the class?" he joked.

"I was...I was just imagining you trying to successfully get around muggle London," and once again, she trailed off into laughter.

He couldn't help but join in. "And this is a cause for a case of the giggles?"

"Yes!" she all but snorted. "Your head would likely explode from sensory overload!" And when his eyes narrowed inappreciatively, she smiled. "Oh come on, George! Telephones? Movie theaters? No one gallivanting around on the latest Nimbus model? Cars?"

"I know what a car is, Livia. I'm not completely ignorant of the _complexities_ of muggle life." And even though the word 'complexities' came stumbling out of his mouth dripping with sarcasm, she knew better than to be offended.

"Yes, but you lot keep them as valuable artifacts. Evidence of muggle _complexities_! We get around in them. Everyday. It's quite different."

George paused to consider her words for a moment, and even though he guessed that she was probably correct in thinking that he would be a bit unprepared for the muggle world, he would never admit it to her. "Well, I'm hardly deficient," he muttered causing her to break out into grin.

"No, but you are quite gallant. And they say chivalry is dead!" she exclaimed, nodding her head at the front door of 'The Leaky Cauldron'. "Takes a certain kind of a guy to walk a girl all the way back to her door...well, to the door of the pub that contains the secret, magical entrance back to her own world."

"Now wait a minute!" George said, pointing his finger at her quite forcefully. "I told that I didn't have a problem in the slightest taking you back to your flat. But _you_ were the one who..."

"George?"

He paused. "Yes?"

"It was a joke," she said, and didn't bother to stifle the laughs that came bubbling over at the sight of his obvious irritation with her. Fortunately, she wasn't the least bit bothered by it. "Really. You walking me here is more than enough. And I'm quite grateful." She curtsied to play it up as best she could, and laughed when he muttered something under his breath that sounded sort of like 'Cheeky bint'.

A silence hovering between comfortable and uncomfortable settled in between them, and to alleviate some of the tension, Livia awkwardly stuck her hand out. George cautiously raised his hand to meet hers. "Let's try really hard to not do this again, deal?"

It took him all of six seconds to figure out just what she was eluding to, and he smiled weakly. "No more funerals. Yeah, I can deal with that." And then he smirked, trying his best to lighten things up. "Or else I'd actually have to walk you all the way to your flat, and you seem to be under the impression that I don't have what it takes to tackle the muggle world." Pulling her hand back, she laughed, and stepped towards the pub's entrance.

"I just call it like I see it," she said with a good bit of cheek, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe you need to get your eyes checked."

"Look at that. He's both gallant _and_ clever!" she joked with a smirk that fit her nicely. "Come to think of it, I don't think muggle London could handle you." The pair of them shared a laugh before she snapped to attention. "Hang on then!"

George's face read confusion, and he watched her carefully, completely unaware of what she was thinking.

She clapped her hands in excitement. "That's a great idea!"

"What?" he prodded.

"Why don't you and Fred join me tomorrow night? I'll show you around town. Give you a tour of the sights!"

And even though the idea was absolutely preposterous, George couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement that started in the soles of feet and crept up through his fingers. "Me and Fred traipsing around London?"

"Why not?" she asked, and while it was a simple question, it was a very good one. "You've entertained my company, and taken me to all sorts of fancy wizarding things."

George paused. "I don't think I would call Quidditch fancy."

She smiled. "It was to me. And I should repay the kindness. We could get some good food, and catch a movie, and I could take you a muggle magic shop. Your head would completely spin!"

George stopped for a moment to consider her suggestion. As involved as his and Fred's father was with muggles through his position at the Ministry, neither George nor his brother had ever spent any significant amount of time in the muggle world. And while the obvious differences between muggle and wizard were always a source of interest, the interest was never enough to get him to explore it for themselves. And that alone was a bit strange considering it typically didn't take very much prodding to get either of them to stick their nose in places where they didn't necessarily belong. In fact, most of their greatest memories from Hogwarts involved just that. So why had he, George Weasley, legendary prankster at Hogwarts School, and infamous (at least, according to Livia) wizard entrepreneur and inventor, never thought to spend a day wandering around London?

Sure, he had been to King's Cross Station often enough, so he wasn't completely oblivious where muggles were concerned. But he had never dined in a muggle restaurant or flipped through a muggle newspaper or flown in a muggle airplane. Talk about fascinating.

He looked back at her. "I'd have to ask Fred first."

And the smile that lit up her eyes led to a strange pounding in his chest. "Wonderful. Yes, ask Fred. And tell him to bring Angelina. And the others as well. I'll get Zoe to come along." The words came spilling out of her lips in rabid excitement. "This is going to be great!" She made her way into the old doorway, and glanced back at him. "Just owl me tonight, and let me know for sure." He nodded in response, and that seemed to suffice because she turned away from him and began to enter the pub. He turned on his heels, and took the first steps back towards his flat. But he didn't get very far before he heard a bit of a scuffle and what sounded like loaded dishes crashing to the floor in a heap.

"I...I'm so sorry!" Livia's humiliated pleadings reached his ears, and George couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

_Later that same evening..._

Livia ran a hand through her frazzled hair, and shook it free of any remaining vestiges of calm. It had been a good two or three hours since she had finally arrived home from the funeral, and although she had only been gone since early that morning, she was physically and mentally exhausted. And upon arriving back at her flat, she let her eyes drift fondly about the living room as though she hadn't seen it for ages. But time had passed since she had arrived home, and the clock on the wall read 11:46. Teeth were brushed. Face was washed. Pajamas were on. Wonderful sleep was beckoning her, and she was nearly ready to surrender herself over to it. But as she drifted through room after room turning off lights and preparing for bed, she heard a tapping at her bedroom window.

She crossed the room quickly, and drew back the curtain. George's owl stared back at her, its great big eyes blinking at her through the glass. And for a moment, Livia could've sworn that the bird wore, on its face, the distinct look of irritation. She knew the look well having been on the receiving end of it plenty of times in the past. And she enjoyed a good laugh at the mental image of her mother's head on the body of an owl.

When the owl tapped its beak against the window pane once again, Livia jumped to let it in. The bird carelessly dropped the note on the floor, and began preening itself without sparing her another glance.

"Charming," she said under her breath as she picked the note up off the floor, and opened it.

_Katie and Lee will be going out of town tomorrow. In need of a  
__vacation, I suppose. And Fred and Angelina already have plans.  
__I'm still up for going if you are._

_-George_

Livia stared at the note in her hand for a good six minutes before picking up a nearby pen.

_Absolutely._

* * *

_The next afternoon..._

While she was hardly one to complain about the weather, finding something beautiful in every season of the year, Livia treasured the occasional 'perfect summer day'. And as it currently was one, all of the windows in her flat were opened as much as they could be. Crisp summer breezes were drifting in causing the sheer burgundy curtain to sway calmly. Unfortunately, Livia was anything but calm. With the windows wide open, it was particularly easy to hear the clock in the gardens across the street toll 4 o'clock.

4 o'clock. Exactly when she had told George to meet her. And for the first time since meeting the Weasley twins, she cursed his strict adherence to punctuality. She was well aware that he would pop up at any minute, and she could've easily used another half hour at least. She was only half ready, and her apartment was less than ready to receive company. While dashing around trying to hide dirty clothes and shove old dishes into the sink, she thought back to the events of the previous night- or rather, earlier that morning.

After sending him the note that said she would 'absolutely' like to meet George despite the fact that the others were unable to join them, George responded in kind.

_Great. Jot down directions to your flat._

That prompted a hearty laugh from her, and she wrote back immediately.

_I can't imagine why you'd need it._

It wasn't long before she received his response.

_You're not a very imaginative creature, and for that, you have my pity._

The owl's eyes followed her around the room as she read and re-read his note, laughing while she did it. And when she passed the bird a note to take back to George, it snatched it from her fingers, and took back off into the night sky.

_Your pity, though unnecessary, is duly noted, and will be filed away._

And when the owl finally returned with his response, it pecked angrily against the window at her sleeping form just a few feet away. When the incessant tapping finally jerked her from her sleep, she dragged her feet to the window, and let the bird in, passing it a treat for all of its efforts. This seemed to quell the owl's irateness, at least for the time being. Livia opened the small note, careful note to tear it in the process.

_Your sarcasm is also unnecessary. Care to file that away as well?  
__I say again, jot down some directions to your flat.  
__I'll just meet you at your place._

She wrote back.

_What's wrong with me meeting you at the usual place?_

His response:

_It's too usual.  
__You've had to meet me plenty of times,  
__and I'm starting to feel like a princess.  
__Give me your address, and I'll be glad to oblige you._

She immediately wrote back, and did so with a well pleased laugh.

_You look like a princess.  
__Do me a favor, and give the poor bird a break.  
__He's looking rather peekish._

_P.S. I'll meet you at the usual place at 4 o'clock._

A good bit of time passed before the owl flew in through the open window, and dropped the note on Livia's coffee table. She had been more than a bit surprised to see a response from George at all considering all of the other responses had taken a respectable half an hour or so to be delivered. And when an hour had passed with no sign of his owl, Livia inevitably came to the conclusion that George had admitted defeat and resigned himself to her way. By this point, it was nearing four in the morning, and she was past the need for rest. Sleep, unfortunately, was no longer calling her, and so she settled herself on the couch and popped in _The Princess Bride_. The video tape was more than a bit worn out considering she had watched it nearly seventy five times, but as long as it played, she couldn't have cared less.

Needless to say, the note dropped on her coffee table caught her off guard. She snapped to attention, and sat up quickly, staring at the note for a moment before standing up to retrieve it. This small, gray envelope looked different than the others, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. But before too long of a moment passed by, she snatched it up, and tore it up quickly.

"Hello Livia."

She dropped the note in horror when George's voice began emanating from it, but as if it had a mind of its own, the note simply floated up to meet her. She edged backwards in a sad effort to put some space between herself and the...talking note, but only accomplished tripping over her own discarded converse, and fell on the couch in a crumpled heap. The note followed her. "Try not to be too alarmed, or you'll end up tripping over your own feet."

She peered around the room cautiously to make sure that he wasn't watching her. "Don't worry. I'm not watching you. This is a howler. It's much more ambitious than a regular ol' telegram, wouldn't you say? Typically, they're only used by irate mothers who are pissed off at their offspring. You'd be surprised at how many of these I've received over the years."

"No, I wouldn't!" she answered, still a bit uncomfortable with the howler to begin with.

"Actually, you're probably not surprised at all."

Once again, she narrowed her eyes and peered around the room.

"So I got your note. Have I mentioned what lovely penmanship you have? Well, onto the point of this rather unorthodox response." His tone was so conversational that she couldn't help but be both bothered and amused by it. "It was very thoughtful of you to consider poor Ollie's feelings." She tore her eyes away to stare at the owl who perked up excitedly when he heard his name called. "Speaking of Ollie, if you'll take a moment to admire the lovely trinket that he has fastened around his neck."

Livia did just that, and although the owl didn't let her get close enough to examine it carefully, she saw that it was a sort of charm.

"You see, Fred and I got this marvelous idea a few years back about developing some sort of high range tracking device. Took us quite a bit of time, and a good bit of money, but we felt the idea was more than worth it. But I suppose we can't take full credit for the idea. The real geniuses were Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Granted, you have no idea what I'm babbling on about, but a howler is hardly the way to have this specific conversation. Remind me to explain it to you tomorrow when I pick you up from your flat. Oh, and don't bother sending Ollie back with directions to your place. I'm currently looking at them. Courtesy of that pretty little charm. We're currently still testing it, but I'd say it seems to be working splendidly. Holloway Drive. Sounds lovely. I'll be there at four."

It took Livia a moment or two to gather her thoughts, but when she finally realized exactly what had just happened, she lunged for the owl. Unfortunately, the bird, fueled by its obvious dislike of her, was too quick for her to catch, and it took off into the night sky.

Needless to say, she didn't get much sleep after that sordid fiasco, and chose instead to finish her film, and to follow it with two others before finally greeting the early morning sun, and setting about to get her usual chores done.

But the consequences for her lack of sleep and poor use of time was that four o'clock seemed to arrive earlier than expected. And she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be taking George out for a night on the town, and she looked a dreadful fright in her sweatpants and 'Wonder Twins' t-shirt.

So while four o'clock loomed closer and closer, she did her best to plan an eventful evening, get ready, and clean her shoddy apartment all at once. Unfortunately, she was never much at multitasking. And around 3:38, she remembered herself and wondered just how and when she had made her way to the bed with a gossip magazine in hand.

The knock at the door ushered a shriek from her, and she bolted to the door feeling entirely unprepared and wholly ridiculous. She swung it open, and was fully prepared with at least six well formed lies to explain her messy state, but heaved a sigh of blessed relief when she found Zoe on the other side.

"Come in!" she said, grabbing Zoe's arm, and all but tossing the unsuspecting girl over her shoulder.

Zoe watched her curiously for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. "I need to borrow your boots. Th' black ones with the spiky lookin' heels. Got a hot date tonight, and th' boy's all about the spikes!" she said, with a flirty smirk on her face.

Unfortunately, Livia wasn't at all interested. She shoved a pile of clothes, shoes, and blankets into Zoe's arms. "Clean! Run! Now!"

"What in th' world?" Zoe asked, her face twisted in confusion.

Livia turned to her as if Zoe was the crazy one, and waved her arms like a maniac. "Clean run now!" she rushed as if they were all one word, and then turned to straighten her magazines, and arrange the pillows on her sofa. Zoe did as she was told, and made sure to pick up the spiky heeled boots that she came for in the first place. She emerged from Livia's bedroom to find the poor red head darting to and fro all the while trying to squeeze herself into a pair of faded jeans.

"Should I bother askin?" Zoe asked with a smile.

Livia opened her mouth to respond when the polite knocking at the door jerked them both, and once again, Livia shrieked.

Zoe shook her head, not entirely understanding what was going on, but determined to find out. She crossed to the door, and opened it calmly.

"Ha! Told you I could find your place!" George exclaimed, shoving a finger in her face, but then he pulled back immediately with a look of utter shock on his face. "Oh, you're not Livia."

Zoe blinked before shaking her head in an effort to snap herself back to attention, and carefully considered checking her chin to make sure that she wasn't drooling. "No, but I can be," she said.

It was George's turn to blink, and while a faint blush crept into his cheeks, he glanced at the number beside the door, and then stared at his directions. "Terribly sorry, but am I in the right place?"

"Boy, I hope so," Zoe said unabashedly.

Thankfully, Livia chose that moment to come to George's rescue, and popped up beside Zoe. "Yeah, you're in the right place. Come on in." As if on cue, both of the girls stepped aside, and allowed George room to enter the apartment.

No sooner had he passed them when Zoe turned on her heels to face Livia. "Who?" she whispered.

"Not now," Livia whispered back.

"Who?" Zoe persisted.

"Not now!"

George turned around when he heard a flurry of heated whispering behind him, but the girls were all well timed smiles when he finally found them.

The three of them stood around in the living room, the silence bordering on horribly awkward. After a moment, Livia jumped. "George, this is Zoe. My girlfriend, the one I told you about. And Zoe, this is George, my friend from the alley."

Realization hit George and Zoe immediately, and the nodded. George smiled, and extended his hand towards her. "Zoe, good to finally meet you. Livia's met nearly all of my mates, and we'd yet to meet any of hers. I was starting to suspect that you didn't have any, Livia." She rolled her eyes in response which only made George smile, and then he turned back to Zoe. "I'm George. It's a real pleasure."

"A pleasure indeed," Zoe said, smiling at Livia. "I've heard a good bit about you as well, George. Real shame it's taken us this long to meet, but I suppose it's better late than never." She shook his hand firmly, and then turned to face Livia. "Will you excuse us, George?" The question was clearly directed at him, but she kept her eyes firmly fixed on Livia while she asked it.

George's eyes darted between the two of them for a moment. "Yeah, that's perfectly fine."

Zoe grabbed Livia's hand in her own, and began pulling her towards the bedroom. Livia looked over her shoulder at George. "Just make yourself at home," she called out before closing the door behind her.

* * *

Once they were far enough aways from him, Zoe turned to face her ginger counterpart. "Why didn't you tell me you were going on a date tonight?" she asked, hands planted firmly on her shapely hips.

Livia's jaw dropped a bit. "Because I'm not going on a date."

"Then why is he here?"

Livia stumbled for a moment. "We're hanging out."

"Oh? And jus' what does that entail?" Somehow, sarcasm seemed to heighten Zoe's Jamaican lilt.

"Dinner and a movie," Livia replied, trying her best to sound confident, but her reasoning sounded flawed, even to her own ears.

"Sounds like a date to me," Zoe muttered, but Livia just shook her head.

"It isn't."

"Well, someone needs to take 'im on a date. If it isn't gon' be you, then I'll gladly submit my name fo' consideration!"

Livia laughed at the thought. "I thought you said you didn't date white boys."

But Zoe just smirked. "Yeah, I _don't_ date white boys. But that out there isn't a white boy. That's a man." And her voice purred when she said it. "And jus' how tall is he? I know you like your men tall!" Livia shook her head, laughing once more. Zoe joined her for a moment, but then stopped when a certain thought hit her. And her eyes traveled up and down the length of Livia's body.

Livia watched her best friend with a twisted amusement. "Zoe, are you...checking me out?"

But Zoe stepped over the question. "Tell me that's not what you're wearin'?" she asked, gesturing to Livia's outfit. The girl in question glanced down at her outfit, and shrugged. Her black Converse. Her favorite pair of worn, fitted jeans. Her yellow B-52s shirt. And atop her messy head, a pair of black aviator sunglasses.

She looked back up at Zoe sheepishly. "What's wrong with it?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Liv, you 'bout to take that boy out on a..." Livia narrowed her eyes. "...casual outing between two friends," she said, trying desperately to make the save. "You said dinner and a movie. What kind o' restaurant we talkin' 'bout? _Ernie's_ down the street? Because you look like it."

Livia frowned. "I was thinking maybe _Arcadia_ down on the West End. We could take a stroll through Kensington Gardens before catching our movie."

Zoe paused to consider her outfit once more. "You look fine for the gardens. You look fine for the movies. But the host at _Arcadia_ will turn you away, and probably laugh while he does it."

"What are you talking about, Zoe? It's not a fancy place. It's funky!"

"Well, you don't look funky. You look like somethin' low tide dragged in."

Despite the fact that the insult was aimed at her, Livia snickered. "Look, you're being ridiculous. I look fine."

"Change," was all Zoe offered as a means of a reply.

"No."

"Yes. Change."

"Zoe, I said no!"

* * *

While George waited comfortably for the girls to return, he gave himself a moment to wander freely around the living room and peruse to his heart's content. The flat seemed rather spacious for just one small girl, but she had packed it in pretty well. There wasn't a particular theme or color scheme to the room, but somehow, it all came together nicely. And it all looked like Livia. Even down to the half naked mermaid lamp. George gave a soft tug on the lamp cord, and laughed when not only the light bulb flashed on, but her seashell bra did as well.

He moved on from the lamb. There was an old piano in the corner that was covered in a respectable layer of dust. And on top of the piano were five or six photo frames with pictures of the same elderly man and the same little brown haired girl. Pictures of the two of them dancing while she stood on his toes. Pictures of the two of them swimming in the ocean. Pictures of the two of them making ridiculous faces. He guessed that the girl in the pictures was probably near six or seven, and even though she wasn't particularly extraordinary as children go, he couldn't help but notice the obvious adoration she held for the older man. And on the same note, the older gentleman looked like he adored her as well. George surmised that the girl in the pictures was Livia although she looked entirely different, but when he imagined the chubby cheeked girl in the pictures with fiery red hair, he could almost see the similarities. Livia and the elderly man looked blissfully happy, and even though George didn't know who the man was, it warmed his heart to see the obvious love and contentment in the pictures. He would have to be sure to ask Livia about them at some point.

All over the walls were posters of dancers from what he guessed were different shows that Livia enjoyed. His eyes glazed over the titles. _Swan Lake. Giselle. Riverdance. Coppelia. Cirque du Soleil. _And just as there were posters of dance shows, there were photos of Livia dancing. His eyes drank in the images of her twisting and twirling, her toes pointed, her arms raised. In most of the pictures, she was dancing with partners. In several, she danced with a group of women, and their faces were aglow, and their bodies lithe as they moved in tandem. But in the rest of the pictures, she danced with male dancers. And while the men held her body in place, her legs were pulled in perfect lines that nearly made his eyes cross. He had seen her dance a bit after the Puddlemere match, but it was nothing like this.

As he continued to move about the room, he found picture after picture of Livia and Zoe. Most were of the two of them doing all sorts of things, and getting into all sorts of trouble. And while no two pictures were the same, the smiles that they wore in each photo were. Livia had told him all about Zoe, and he knew well that despite their differences in looks and personality, they were both vital to the other one. Closer than friends. Perhaps soul sisters was the more correct word.

As if on cue, he heard rather loud thumping erupt from the bedroom, and he snapped to attention. He was on the verge of calling out to ensure that everything was all right when he heard something...or someone fall to the floor.

"Zoe, I said no!" a voice whined loudly, and he cringed inwardly a bit when he heard what sounded like grunts and scuffling. Just when he thought that he had heard enough, the door opened slowly, and the two girls emerged.

Zoe's hair was a bit mussed up, and looked as though someone had been tugging on it. But Livia looked...different.

"Is...everything all right?" he asked warily.

Zoe raised an eyebrow. "Everythin' fine." She turned to glance at Livia who was staring at a spot on the floor. "Well, I got what I came for." And she picked the discarded pair of spiky heeled boots off of the floor. "George, it was lovely to meet you."

"Likewise," he said although he wasn't entirely sure that he would be so quick as to describe the meeting as lovely.

"Livia, I'll...call you tomorrow." If she was expecting an answer, she didn't let on, and a moment later, she closed the front door behind her. George cocked his head to look at Livia, but she was fetching her purse from off the counter.

"Well," she said quietly with a small, and slightly unconvincing smile on her face. "We should probably get going. Lots to do. Lots to see. The city awaits." She opened the door and waited for him to join her which he did after a long pause.

And while she set about to locking her door, George regarded her for a moment. "D-did you change?" he asked confusedly as he took in her long sleeved black and white striped shirt, her slightly sturdier pair of blue jeans, knee high black boots, and a frilly green scarf to pull it all together. Her hair had been combed, and was currently donning a cute little black headband.

She glanced down at her outfit for a moment, and then back up at him. "Uh...yeah. I thought it would be more appropriate- or something." She paused for a moment as if to consider her own answer, and when she found it satisfactory, she nodded. "Let's be off then?"

George smirked at the terribly odd little creature in front of him. "Yeah, let's be off."

* * *

**End Note: So there we are. Chapter eight over and done with while chapter nine is on its way to being done. Let's just say I was on a bit of a roll, and while I SHOULD be working on lesson plans, I'm choosing to work on this instead. haha. Hopefully, I can muster up the time over the course of the next week to finish chapter nine, but if I simply can't swing it, expect an update two Saturdays from now. Maybe if I get a bunch of killer reviews, I'll update before then. Now, you may be thinking to yourself 'Wait...she's not threatening to hold chapter nine hostage, is she?' The answer would be...yes. haha. Oh yeah, I went there!**

**:) Just messin' with you all! But seriously, review! Lemme know what you think. The action will take off next chapter. I promise! Wink wink. **

**See you soon!**

**-V. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: So can I just start off by saying that I am sooooooo sorry for this horribly late update? I throw myself at your feet, and humbly beg for forgiveness. And I also throw myself at the feet of Life, and humbly beg for a tiny break. haha. Needless to say, school and my internship have effectively consumed my existence. And I'm updating this late simply because this is the earliest that I could. I've been working on this chapter with every bit of spare time that I could find. And today, I finally found a few hours of peace and quiet. So I finished it! Believe me. I hate waiting for updates as much as you all do. But your patience has paid off! **

**No update would be complete without my paying respects to all of the wonderful reviewers that took the time to let me know what they thought regarding chapter eight. You all are amazing! That is all there is to it. Even though this particular update is so far behind, you all are the reason that I was determined to get it out at all! So a HUGE THANK YOU to RoseblossomWarrior, Avelina99, .heaRt, quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, theideaofyou, HellNOKitty, won't be the Victim, Whatever Makes You Break, MorganMDW, and nonicasweet. Thank you all so much for your wonderfully kind words and encouragement. It is so exciting to know that people are reading this, and are enjoying it. **

**This chapter, in particular, is dedicated to nonicasweet who left a review three days ago encouraging me not to give up, and to remind me that people were waiting for the update! Thank you! You said you'd be waiting, and now, your wait is over. ;)**

**So I'm gonna quit talking. Here is chapter nine. Longest chapter so far! Hope it doesn't disappoint! mwahaha**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"_No one can possible know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time."_

_-James Arthur Baldwin_

Typically, Livia prided herself on maintaining some semblance of individuality in a world that worked so hard to squeeze it out of a person. But her protest against conformity was mostly on the inside. On the outside, she appeared to be remarkably ordinary. Her hair wasn't any wilder than any one person that whose paths she crossed on any given day. Her eyes were green, but she'd seen greener. She laughed quite frequently, but only because things were often funny. Even a talented contemporary dancer was only as unique as the next one over. However, she had painstakingly distinguished herself from a family that had a hard time remembering she was a part of them at all. And while her life hadn't always been simple or easy, she remained constant in her efforts to always find something worth smiling about. In short, Livia Claire Daly wasn't one who would readily admit that she had let life jade her despite its best efforts, and she did her best never to take things for granted.

But as she meandered carelessly through the busy city streets with George at her side, she couldn't help but feel a bit sad knowing that she didn't stop to admire her world nearly as often as she should have. While her eyes watched him, his eyes were watching everything else, and the childish wonder etched on his face brought a smile to her lips.

It also brought about a distracting (and yet strangely pleasing) warmth in her chest. Ironically, right around the area where her heart was busy pumping blood.

Upon leaving her flat, the two of them enjoyed a nice enough walk to the subway station two blocks away. However, the walk took an impressive twenty five minutes as George insisted on stopping every six or so seconds to comment, question, speculate, or otherwise stare in dumbfounded amazement at the simplest of things.

Pick up trucks. "What's pulling them?"

The trolley as it passed by. "No, really. What's pulling them?"

A passenger jet flying thousands of feet above their heads. "You daft? You've actually been inside one of those things? Why don't you just paint a target sign on your forehead, and let me aim an Unforgivable Curse at you. Honestly. "

The local paper boy shouting headlines concerning government officials and their scandalous comings and goings. "What did that boy mean when he said the 'Prime Minister's got a piece of prime rib on the side'?"

A particularly snobby woman who carried her obnoxious teacup chihuahua in her purse. "And you're absolutely certain that wasn't a goblin?"

A fast food seafood and taco place. "And they say muggles are less evolved."

The subway proved to be a bit of an experience, and one that perhaps George wasn't entirely prepared for. For most of the fifteen minute ride, Livia had to bite her bottom lip in a sad but strangely effective way of stifling her giggles. Plainly put, George's eyes were the size of saucers from the start of the ride to the very end of it. Apparently, much in the same way that he tended to overlook the fact that Livia was a staunch muggle, and therefore very much unaware of most things wizard, she forgot to consider the fact that George was a wizard, and a very ignorant one at that. Or at least, ignorant where the muggle world was concerned.

At first, George was none too pleased at the prospect of having to travel in the 'belly of a steel leviathan'.

"George, it's just like any other train you've seen before."

He paused, and looked at her. "Yeah, but its underground."

She paused in turn. "But...its a train...just like any other you've seen before."

Once more, he paused. And this time, he added two well placed blinks for effect. "Yeah,...but its underground."

Once she had put his mind to rest (by threatening to tell Fred all about his _fears _of trains), he jumped on board, and found them two empty seats. While the train sat still to allow passengers ample time to board, his eyes flitted from one person to the next as though he were viewing the animals in a zoo. Tall, short, big, small, old, young, black, and white all on display for his viewing pleasure.

Livia's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she leaned into his ear. "George, you're being just the tiniest bit obvious. You've seen this many people before."

"Yes," he whispered back. "But I've never seen this many muggles before!"

"Well, one muggle is as good as the next. Take a good look, but don't be too heartbroken when you find that we're very much ordinary. Nothing interesting to note here."

At that, he scoffed. "Nothing interesting, huh? Take a look over there." And he gestured towards the back of the car. She turned slowly. And to her amusement sat the woman with the dog in her purse. As if one cue, the chihuahua caught Livia staring at it, and began yapping like mad. Livia turned back to face George, and he smirked before saying "Goblin".

She smiled at the thought. There simply was no other option, but to.

And when the train jerked into motion, she had no other option, but to burst out in hysterical laughter at his own sudden jerk.

His head snapped towards her. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Here is your table, and your waiter will be with you shortly. Please take a look through the menu, and if you'd like any suggestions, I'd be more than happy to make some." The young lady smiled warmly at Livia and George as they settled into their seats. While George's eyes danced about the eclectic little restaurant on London's West End, Livia took it upon herself to attend to the eagerly waiting wide eyed girl.

"I think we'll be fine. Thanks."

"Excellent," she said in a nauseatingly chipper way that made Livia all too grateful that she wasn't their waiter. And then she nodded promptly before turning to leave.

George picked up his menu, and Livia watched as his eyes began scanning page after page, and she smiled to herself before retreating to her own menu. A moment later, she decided it was probably the best course of proactive thinking to help George navigate through the different types of food, but before she had a chance to do so, the waiter appeared at her side. And he did so with a charming smile on his handsome and chiseled face. George's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he gripped his menu tightly.

"How are you both doing on this lovely evening?" he asked, directing the question towards Livia, and barely sparing a glance at her dinner partner. George gripped the menu even tighter.

"Quite well," Livia answered, her eyes still traveling the course of her menu.

"Yes, quite," George answered, trying his best to remain polite given the fact that the waiter insisted on staring at Livia in a manner that was rude at best. But tall, dark, and handsome didn't seem at all perturbed by George's answer...or his presence.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" he asked, giving Livia his most roguish smile. Fortunately for the waiter, Livia didn't notice. Unfortunately for him, George did.

"Pumpkin juice," he answered. At that, both Livia and the waiter lifted their heads to meet him.

"Excuse me?" the waiter asked in obvious confusion. "Pumpkin...juice?" And the way in which he said immediately tipped George off to the fact that he had said something very wrong...or rather, very wizard.

Livia jumped to his rescue, and laughed pleasantly drawing the attention back onto her. "This one," she said, pointing to George with a coy smile on her face. "He's quite the prankster. You'll have to watch him. Pumpkin juice! Gets em' every time!" The waiter nodded, but his expression clearly read 'I still don't get it'. Livia cleared her throat. "We'll both just have tea, please." And with that, the waiter skirted off to fetch their drink orders.

Livia smiled at George. "Pumpkin juice?"

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry about that. Sort of lost track of where I was." Of course, that was only partly true. The other half being because he was too busy glaring daggers at the boy wonder. But he wouldn't rush to tell her that. Better to divert her attention. "This menu is rubbish. No pictures! How am I supposed to tell whether or not I want something."

"You could always ask the waiter. He can explain a menu item more clearly."

But George's eyebrow rose in a smug way. "Not bloody likely."

Livia simply laughed in reply. And it was at this time that said waiter decided to reappear with their drinks in hand. He placed them on the table before them.

"Now, what can I get you all for dinner this evening?"

Livia glanced up at George. "Do you trust me?" she asked, and the question lingered for a moment before he answered a truthful 'Of course'.

"Good man," the waiter said, his tone only slightly unoffensive. "Best to let the lady order." And George's fists clenched. Was this...boy...taking some sort of smarmy underhanded jab at him?

Livia wisely chose that moment to figuratively dive between the two of them. "I'll have the Somerset Pork, and he'll have the Beef Wellington."

"Both delicious," the waiter commented, committing both orders to memory.

"And I'll also have the Ginger Beer!" George said suddenly causing Livia to look up quickly. Her eyes asked 'Really?', but she thankfully didn't question his drink order out loud. George simply nodded at her, and she shrugged in return.

"And I'm gonna go ahead and order the Turkish Delight for dessert," she said, handing the menus to the waiter. He nodded, committing their orders to memory before rushing off to input them. "You like Ginger Beer?" she asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Well, I like Butterbeer, so how bad can it be!"

"If you like ginger."

He pointed to his head in a very pompous way. "I'd like to think that I'm a fan of ginger, thank you very much." And he smirked at her in a way that made her laugh. After a minute or two, the waiter returned with George's Ginger Beer, and the promise that their food would be as quickly as possible. Livia thanked him kindly. George thanked him...less than kindly. While Livia sipped at her tea, George inspected the mug in front of him, and when he found it to be satisfactory, he brought it to his lips, and took a fair sip.

Promptly, he placed the mug back on the table without so much as a hint of an expression on his face, and pushed the mug away from him. "I've always thought of myself as more of a tea sort of bloke anyways."

Livia laughed heartily. And an hour later, the two of them settled comfortably in their perspective seats, their stomachs full to the brim with Somerset Pork and Beef Wellington. Somewhere towards the middle of the meal, George felt it was more than appropriate for him to begin sampling bits off of her plate, and she didn't have the fortitude to pretend to be offended. After all, this night on London town was for his enjoyment and pleasure. The man could eat off of her plate if he very well chose to.

While the two of them picked through the last bits of delectable Turkish Delight, they talked and laughed much like two old friends, and not at all like people who, up until six months earlier, didn't even know that the other one existed. However, it was awkwardly disrupted once more when the waiter reappeared with their bill. And when Livia pulled out her wallet in a move that clearly said 'I'm buying', George was forced to stare at a spot on the wall in a patient effort to avoid the waiter's bothersome looks. Moments later, the waiter was gone with Livia's money in hand.

George turned to look at her. "I really wish you'd let me pay."

But Livia only smiled. "Hey, I'm all about being taken care of, but unfortunately, galleons and sickles will only get you so far in this restaurant. About as far as the door." She smirked at him teasingly. He wasn't at all amused, but it only seemed to press her further. "Look, it's my treat whether you like it or not. You're my guest. This was my idea. Therefore, I maintain the right to treat you as I see fit. This is my world, chap. And in my world, you play by _my _rules." And to wrap it up, she fixed him with her best whithering stare.

However, this only resulted in a smile breaking out on George's face. "Chap?"

"Yeah, it just sort of fell out of my mouth!"

"I never would have guessed," he joked, prompting her to scowl rather unconvincingly before excusing herself, and making her way towards what he guessed were the restrooms. While she was gone, he continued poking at the food still on the table, and even though he was well past full, the food was still delicious. Unfortunately, his private chow session was cut short.

"Oh, she's stepped away?" the waiter asked.

George blinked. "Just for a moment. She should be back shortly."

The waiter's nod served as the only indication that he had even heard George. "Well, that's good. I have her receipt."

"Well, I'll make sure that she gets it," George said.

"Oh, I'd feel more comfortable making sure it gets into her hands. Can't be too careful these days."

"Couldn't agree more. That being said, I'll make sure that she gets it!" George answered shortly, having had quite enough of this man's obvious attitude towards him.

"You know, I've seen her in here before." His voice oozed with pomp, and George snapped to attention. "Yeah, with a friend of hers. Beautiful Bahamian goddess. You know the like." And he smiled coyly. "But Red is the real looker. Strange seeing a girl who looks that good come in here time and time again, but never with a bloke." His tone was all too disrespectful of both Livia and George, and he'd had quite enough.

George's eyebrows raised, and although his words came out in a quiet and controlled tone, there was a subtle layer of ice underneath. "First of all, you'd be wise to stop talking or thinking about her in _any_ way. She's much too good for that. Secondly, I believe that I've been more than patient with your carrying on all through dinner, but I'm not beyond having my buttons pushed. And I can tell you that you've pushed just about all of them. Twice over." His words were clipped and quick. "I'm not in the mood, and I can tell you that she isn't either. So you do the both of us a favor, drop what you've got in your hand, and slither back to whatever hole you crawled out of." The waiter's eyes widened in surprise. "Not that it's your place to speculate either way, but she happens to be with me tonight, so all of this 'never with a bloke' thing is a more than a bit unnecessary."

"Unnecessary because you're her boyfriend?" the waiter answered after a moment. And although George opened his mouth to respond, no words came issuing forth. The waiter nodded, obviously heated at having been momentarily bested by this upstart ginger who dared to consider himself suitable company for Livia. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You're just the guy whose meal she's paying for."

George was on his feet in an instant while his hands searched his jacket pocket for his wand.

"I'm back!" Livia said, her voice uncomfortably chipper for having just invaded a war path. "Sorry it took so long. I got to talking to some girl about shoes, and ships, and ceiling wax." Both of the men stared at her awkwardly, and her smile faded. "Never mind. Should've known better than to waste a perfectly suitable Lewis Carroll reference on a couple of boys. Is that my receipt?" Her voice jolted the waiter. He handed it to her, and she yanked it from him with a syrupy sweet smile. "Ready, George?" she asked, smiling at him in a manner that was more than friendly. Now, it was his turn to be jolted by her, and he simply nodded his head. "Wonderful!" she piped, intertwining her fingers with his in a flirtatious way. The waiter watched dumbly, and George smirked in spite of himself. So she wasn't ignorant of the fact that he and the waiter were...at odds. In fact, she was graciously handing the upper hand to George. And on a silver platter, no less.

"Here," he said, grabbing her jacket from the chair. "Slip this back on. Can't have you catching a cold in this cool night air." And with a knowing smile, she obliged him, allowing George to practically dress her while the waiter watched. When her arms were successfully pulled through, George spun her around, and straightened out her collar, pulling her hair loose from underneath it. All the while, his hands hovered dangerously around her creamy neck, and because he was fully aware that the waiter's eyes were still on them, he trailed a lone finger up the expanse of her neck tipping her chin towards him. And she let him. "Ready to go?" he asked, his voice low and clearly amused.

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Only if you are."

And as if on cue, George turned his head to spare a glance at the waiter whose square jaw was tightened in an obviously bothered way. "Oh, I'm more than ready." And he settled her hand in the crook of his arm in the same way that he had seen Arthur do to Molly on numerous occasions. Without another word, the pair of them moved towards the front doors.

But when they were a good ways away, Livia leaned into George, and whispered, "I know exactly what you're thinking, George Weasley. And if you pull that wand out so you can make sure that you have the last laugh, I will rat you out to your mother so fast, it'll make Fred's head spin."

George had the decency to look surprised at her comment. "My wand? Livie, it's safely tucked away in my pocket. Don't be so paranoid." But as they strolled past the seating hostess nodding their good nights, George tilted his head away from Livia every so slightly, and muttered a faint "_Confundus_".

The pair of them were barely out of the doors when the crash reached their ears, and neither of them could help but turn around in confusion. But when they spotted what appeared to be the waiter (or who they only guess was the waiter for all of the food he had running down his face) huddled underneath a pile of angry patrons, Livia turned slowly towards George only to find him looking none too pleased.

He spared her an innocent glance. "What?" he asked, his voice racked with amusement. "I didn't touch my wand!"

* * *

The late afternoon melted into a beautiful early evening, and it founded the young pair strolling carelessly down a flower strewn path.

"And right over here is my favorite spot in all of Kensington Gardens," Livia said with a laugh in her voice as she led George along. When they reached the spot in question, she waved her hands in a flourish as if she was the ringleader at a circus. "Tada!" she exclaimed, and his eyebrows raised in amusement.

"It's...a statue," he deadpanned, and her grin fell from her face.

"A statue? That's all you have to say?" she questioned in irritation. "It's not just any statue. It's Peter Pan!" George merely shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. "The boy who never grew up?" she prodded, but once again, he answered with a shrug, and she followed it with a sigh. "You have more magic in your little finger than I do in my entire being, and yet, you've no idea who Peter Pan is. Downright shameful is what it is!"

George watched as she began circling the statue, her fingers running over the molded bronze animals. "It's one of my favorite books of all time. Tells the story of a boy who slipped away from his parents, and escaped to Neverland where he lived with the Lost Boys, and battled pirates, and danced with fairies, and never, ever had to grow up."

She came around the back of the statue, and glanced at George, but he just shook his head. "Doesn't sound all that interesting."

Her face fell. "Not that interesting? I bet you haven't had a tenth of the adventures that Peter does, and he's just a boy. Do _you_ travel around with a fairy?" she asked, her hands firmly placed on her lean hips.

George thought for a moment. "Does Ron count?"

"No," she said with a well pointed eye roll. "And can _you_ fly?"

This seemed to peak his interest. "Yes, actually, I can!"

She smirked. "Without a broom? From bedroom windows all the way to the stars?" To this, he had no witty response. "I thought so!" And while George's eyes roamed the paths, trees, and flowers all around him, Livia was quite content imitating the statue, and held a relatively clean twig to her lips.

"Is he a smoker?" George asked suddenly, his voice piercing through her little world of make believe. She turned to face him with a half meant scowl.

"Of course not," she answered, her arms hanging limp at her side. She turned away from George laughing quietly to herself before getting into the proper position. "It's a _musical_ pipe!" And she brought the twig to her lips.

"No, that's a piece of wood." And with a careful look around to make sure that he wasn't in danger of being noticed, George whipped out his wand, and muttered a quick incantation. "Now it's a pipe."

And Livia jerked in surprise when she opened her eyes, and beheld what looked like a rather respectable looking pipe. After the initial shock and amusement began to wear away, she glanced up at him. "I thought that wasn't allowed." He gestured for her to continue. "You know, using magic outside of school."

He nodded. "It is according to certain laws about underage magic. But I'm not a student, nor am I underage." Then, Livia watched as a sort of shadow crossed over his features. "Besides, I don't think I have very much to worry about. The Ministry of Magic isn't going to worry themselves over a harmless Transfiguration spell." He paused. "Not...not when the world is crumbling around them." And he kicked at a nearby pebble.

Livia panicked. 'Distract him. It's his happy day. Happy day!' She crossed over to him, and smiled brightly. "Well, we should probably get moving. Don't want to be late for your very first cinematic experience." And without waiting for a response, she took his hand in hers, squeezed it fondly, and began walking towards the nearest exit.

George looked up when he felt her hand slide into his, and it was then that he noticed that he was being dragged forward by this tiny girl. And he knew that she had jumped to action at the sight of his pensive attitude springing up. He hadn't meant for it to happen. One minute, he was thinking on immortal, pipe playing forest boys, and then next, he was thinking about Voldemort and Dumbledore and Harry and everything else. If this was what he had to look forward to, this constant turn in his emotions, then he was more than a bit grateful that Livia, because of her muggle blood, didn't live in his world, and therefore wouldn't have much opportunity to see him like this. He didn't mind letting his guard down around Fred. Or even Angelina, Lee, and Katie. And certainly not around his parents although he was less apt to around his mother, bless her heart.

But Livia was a different story. She wasn't like the others. Or at least, his relationship with her wasn't like the others. It was...different. Or was it? Perhaps he was just reading too much into it. Sure, they were friends. Good friends. He would even argue great friends.

'But that's all you are,' a voice in the farthest reaches of mind whispered to him, and he blinked. Yes. That's all they were. So what if that was all they were. He was pleased as punch to have her in his life. She was a breath of fresh air, and he would just be asking for it if he pushed for anything more. No. He was quite content to call this little red-headed forest sprite a friend.

'But will you be content forever?' the voice piped in again. This time, George forced the thought into submission, and buried it underneath everything else. Underneath Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and Harry. Because choosing to accept Livia as anything other than a good...no, great friend would only put her in danger. At the end of the day, he was a wizard, and she was a muggle. And while George would never intentionally put her in harm's way, he certainly could unintentionally do so, and the thought of hurting her turned his stomach.

Still, in spite of all that, here she was, holding his hand in hers. Here she was trying to show him a good time in a well meant effort to force his mind off of the very present truth that the world was about to get much, much darker, and onto the very real truth that there was still good in the world. Yes. She certainly was a great friend.

His hand tightened around hers.

She turned to face him and smiled, all the while continuing to lead him, but he had long since given up dragging his feet, and was firmly walking beside her now. And when she saw the smile on his face, the smile that said 'The shadows are gone for now. I'm all right', she nodded once, and then released his hand.

While the two of them continued walking, reveling in the feel of the crisp summer breezes floating through the leaves in the trees and then through their ginger hair, Livia glanced at the pipe still resting in her hand. "What am I supposed to do with this thing?"

He laughed. "Keep it. It's a souvenir of our exploits today. Or you can be proactive, and try to learn to play it."

She shook her head quickly. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have absolutely no musical talent whatsoever."

"I thought you played the piano," he asked.

She looked up at him in confusion. "Where did you get that...oh, I see. The piano in my flat." He nodded. "Yeah, um, well, that's not mine. I mean, it is now. But it wasn't always. It belonged to my Grandfather. He was a huge jazz fan." George hadn't the slightest clue what jazz was, but given the context, he took it to be some sort of musical style, and he nodded his head, not wanting to interrupt her. "Actually, the flat was his too. He used to own this carpentry shop down the street from the apartment. Quite the craftsman. And he always smelled like freshly cut wood."

"He...used to own?" George asked quietly.

Livia smiled weakly. "Oh, yeah...well, he died when I was younger. Sort of unexpected, I suppose. He wasn't particular about eating healthy or exercising, but he looked fine on the outside, so you'd never be able to tell his heart was going out on him. But he just collapsed one day in his workshop. One of his workers found him, and they rushed him to the emergency room. But it wasn't no use. He...he was gone before they reached it. Heart attack."

A stilted silence settled between them before George finally uttered a small "I'm sorry".

Livia shrugged. "It's all right. It was a long time ago."

George nodded. "Were the two of you close?"

"The closest," she said with a pleased smile. "He was a muggle, you know. He was married to a witch. His only daughter was a witch. And he still managed not to be outshone by them. He was brilliant at everything he did. Even after my Grandmother left him, he still did his best by her. Never remarried. Just built himself a business out of nothing. And he was wildly successful." She paused. "He and mum never got along well. I think she always felt that however impure her blood was, it was all his fault, you know? And I suppose after she met my father, I guessed she just assumed that every bit of muggle blood would be overshadowed by his very _pure_ blood."

"And then you came along," George finished for her.

She smirked. "And then I came along. And I was every bit as dirty as my Grandfather. Not a scrap of magic in me. Probably shamed her a good bit, but my Grandfather loved it. I know it probably sounds stupid, but growing up, he really was like my best friend. Probably spent more time at his apartment than I did in my own home. I was the only muggle kid in my hometown. But Declan came along eventually, and he fit in much better than I ever could. And I think whatever hurt I caused my mother, Declan sort of healed. So I was glad for that."

She laughed to herself, her head shaking with amusement at some freshly lived memory. "After he died, he left everything to me. The flat, his shop, his money. My mum had made it perfectly clear that she had no interest in being saddled with a bunch of muggle junk, so she and my father transferred it to an account in my name. And when I turned sixteen, I left home and moved into the flat. I used the money he left to help put me through school so I could pursue dance, and I rent out the shop space to a kindly old woman named Martha to pay for everything else." And then she smiled in a way that made her face beam. "It's sort of like I wouldn't be here today if it hadn't been for him. Not like I wouldn't be alive. But so much of who I am is because I'm out here living on my own, and doing what I love, and having the freedom to do it. Dancing is my dream, and I'm able to do it because of him. And I'm living a life apart from my family, and I'm being the sort of person that I can respect. And it's all because of him. All of it. He's...sort of my hero."

After a moment's pause, George glanced at her. "I think he's sort of my hero now too!" And her voice joined his in laughter.

* * *

"How are you doing tonight?"

"Great!" George replied. "Can I have two for _Jurassic Park_ at 9:05."

The young girl behind the box office window nodded. "Two for _Jurassic Park_. 9:05. Anything else?" she asked as she handed him two freshly printed tickets.

He nodded confidently. "One large popcorn, two bottled waters, and a pack of Twizzlers." The young girl nodded once more before scooping out the popcorn, retrieving the bottles of water, and grabbing the candy. She handed them all to George, and then smiled. "That'll be $18 even."

George, in turn, handed her a crisp twenty dollar bill, and thanked her smoothly when she gave him his change.

"Enjoy the movie!" she called out. "I saw it last week. It was wicked!"

"We will, thanks." And as naturally as anyone could, he turned on his heels, and calmly walked back to where Livia was standing, jumping in place with excitement. When he finally reached her, his calm facade erupted into a grin. "Did you see that? I purchased _tickets_ to a _movie_!"

"You ordered popcorn!" she said back, equally excited.

"I bought Twizzlers!" he responded. "And I don't even know what they are."

She waved the package in front of his face. "Well, they're...these red things. And they're delicious!"

He took the pack from her, and tried his best to inspect the candy through the plastic. "And why are they called Twizzlers?" The question gave her pause even though it was a perfectly adequate one.

"Well...because they're...tw..._twizzed_? _Twizzled_? Tw..."

He cut her off. "Never mind. I think I get it. Let's go ahead, and get some seats. I hear it's supposed to be _wicked_!"

* * *

_Exactly 26 minutes later..._

The cool night air smacked Livia in the face as George roughly pushed her out of the front doors of the movie theater, and after much struggling, she finally managed to twist in his arms.

"George, what in the world was that f..."

"Don't argue! I have to get you home, and then I have to get home! Come on!" And just like that, he was shoving her again. This time, it was easier to push him off.

"What are you talking about? Go home why?"

But George merely looked at her as though she was barking mad. "Did you see those...beasts? Running loose like that? We're not safe! No one is safe! I need to get you home, and you need to lock your doors. And I'm placing a protection spell around your building. They're not ripping you apart like they did that first guy...and then that other guy!"

"George..."

"And then I have to get home and make sure my family is still all right. Maybe I can owl them. No. That flying thing with the claws would have a field day with any owl. Probably use its little owl bones to pick its teeth."

"George, I don't..."

"I need to write Charlie. He'll know for sure what to do about the t-rex. His specialty is dragons, but I'm sure he has some knowledge of how to kill them!"

"George, you don't under..."

"No! Not kill them! Capture them, and then train them! Sure, Voldemort could easily wipe one of those out, but can you imagine the look on those Deatheaters' faces if one of those came charging at them!"

"George!" Livia half shouted. Her voice reached him, and effectively yanked him out of whatever delusion he was blissfully lost in. And when she saw that she had captured his attention, she lowered her voice. "The movie isn't real."

George shook his head. "What are you talking about? Of course it's real. You were there. I was there."

"No, I mean the movie is just telling a story. Those people aren't really dead."

"Not dead?" he half shouted. "That one man got his face bloody well ripped off."

But she spoke softly as if speaking to a child. "But he just _pretended_ to get his face bloody well ripped off. He's probably home having a late night snack as we speak."

Silence settled between them as George processed her words. "Not real?"

"Not at all."

"And the big..."

"Nope."

"But the teeth are..."

"Nope."

His face went effectively blank. "So the dinosaurs aren't running rampant on Site B?"

"Nope. In fact, there isn't even a Site B!"

George ran a weary hand through his hair. "This is strange."

"This is cinema!" she replied with an amused smile.

At that, George smiled slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, this is cinema. This is muggle cinema. I'm watching a muggle movie eating muggle Twizzlers, and the dinosaurs aren't real!" he shouted. An elderly couple walking past them ducked in terror, and ran away as fast as their feeble legs could carry them. Livia briefly considered apologizing, but thought better of it. Suddenly, George's hand shot out, and grabbed hers in a frenzy, and she felt herself being yanked against her will once more. But before she had a chance to fight it, George turned to her and shouted, "We're missing it!"

* * *

"You can put your shoes there if you'd like," Livia said as she and a sopping wet George came barreling through her front door. While she spoke, she tugged her own dripping shoes off, and tossed them away from her. Their eyes met, and a torrent of uncontrollable laughter followed.

"What kind of freak weather was that?" George asked, trying his best to remain upright while he peeled his jacket off of his frame.

Livia shook her the water from her hair. "I've no idea. The weather report this morning didn't say a thing about it! Sunny all day, and then torrential downpour when the movie ends. A cosmic joke is what it is, and I'm not laughing!"

George smirked. "Well, I'm laughing! You look like a drowned cat!" he blurted out pointing rudely at the mess that was her hair.

"Oh, shut it," she muttered, shoving him rudely before retreating to her bedroom for a moment. "Gimme your wet things. I'll set em' in my dryer, so that you won't catch a cold."

George glanced at her shut bedroom. "Are you sure you're not just trying to catch me naked?" The words spilled out of his mouth without any pause for thought or speculation, and George's eyes widened. Had he just really said that? That was flirty..and somewhat dirty. Sure, they had exchanged plenty of harmless jokes emphasizing the fact that she was a girl and he was a boy. No, not boy and girl. A man and a woman. Of consenting age and semi compatible personalities. So obviously, meaningless flirting had occurred. But this was something different. At least, it felt different after he said it. Cringing inwardly, he braced himself for the swinging bedroom door with an irate and horribly offended Livia crashing through it. But then he heard her laughing quietly, and when she emerged, she had an armful of clothes. Without a word, she dumped them haphazardly in George's arms.

"You wish. Now, you can change in the guest bathroom. I wouldn't recommend any snooping because all of the really interesting stuff is in my bathroom, but you're welcome to try." George was about to insist that she change first, but then he noticed that she already had. And she had changed into what he could only assume were pajamas. They weren't exactly matching. In fact, he wasn't entirely certain that they were exactly considered girls' pajamas at all.

"What is The Who?" he asked after scrutinizing her shirt for a moment.

But she just shook her head regretfully. "You know, we really just don't have time enough to get into that tonight. Some other time." With a shrug, he disappeared into the guest bathroom to rid himself of his soaking wet clothing. Meanwhile, she turned on the television, and set about preparing two cups of hot tea. When the sound of movement reached her ears, she glanced towards the guest bathroom. "So, George. What did you think of the movie?"

"Oh, I thought it was bloody brilliant!" he answered, his voice slightly muffled from behind the door. "The way it looked, the way it sounded! So real, and so big, and so loud. One of the greatest things I've ever seen!" he called out, and he meant it.

"Even greater than Quidditch?" she joked, an d a thoughtful silence followed. Her jaw dropped "George Weasley, that was a joke! Are you seriously considering it?"

George emerged from the guest bathroom dressed in the spare sweatpants, and while he spoke, he unfolded the shirt and began pulling it over his head. "Of course not. Not seriously, at least."

But his words were more or less lost in the air because Livia was barely listening. Her attention, instead, was fixed on his bare chest and well toned stomach as he fumbled with the shirt, and finally yanked it in place. Before he had a chance to notice her blatant gawking, she turned her head away, and pretended to focus on the television. Anything was better than being absolutely humiliated by him, and she knew without having to look for confirmation that her pale cheeks were red and flushing. She knew because her cheeks felt hot.

So did her stomach.

And so did her hands.

Thankfully, he failed to notice, and simply nodded his thanks as he grabbed the spare cup of hot tea from the table, and made himself comfortable next to her. She felt the cushions shift and move underneath her as he settled down, and still, her eyes were fixed on the screen. However, she wasn't at all aware of what was on.

But she was quite aware of his close his shoulder was to hers. And she was aware of the even pace at which he inhaled. She was quite aware of his scent.

Typical George with a dash of summer shower.

And the last remaining drops of water still clung to his neck. She was aware of that as well.

She was also quite aware of the rapid pounding in her chest, the slight tingle in her feet, the tickle in her stomach, the heat in her neck, the dryness in her lips. Unfortunately, licking them did very little to fix the problem.

"It's like a miniature cinema," she heard George say, and it managed to snap her out of her reverie. She shook her head in her best attempt to clear it, and then turned to him.

"What was that?"

"The television," he answered, pointing to the box. "It's like having a tiny cinema right inside of your home. Genius!"

She smiled, suddenly feeling rather foolish. Those thoughts and emotions had come upon her so suddenly that she had no way of throwing up an acceptable counter attack. But she had regained her wits, and now, she felt the sudden urge to laugh at herself. Really. Feeling that way...about George?

Completely and utterly ridiculous.

"Yes, it is quite novel when you think of it that way, I suppose."

"Can we watch something with the t-rex?"

She looked at him. "I don't think we're going to find anything about dinosaurs on tonight," she said slowly.

His eyes widened. "No dinosaurs?" She shook her head. "What could be more exciting than watching dinosaurs mutilate people?"

The question almost drove her to laughter, but she quenched it quickly. "It's a question that keeps me up at night," she said, and although she was sarcastic, he was too glued to the television to notice. "_Doctor Who_ is on."

He turned to her. "What's that?"

"It's about a doctor who travels through time and helps people," she offered, trying her best to sum up the series in a way that George would understand. But he simply shook his head, and waved her off.

"Sounds dreadfully boring!" But he made no move to change the channel (most likely because he had no idea how to), and so he did his best to pay attention to the episode.

Livia, on the other hand, was _trying_ to pay attention to the episode, but was finding it impossibly hard to do so. Her feet were tingling again. Her cheeks were hot again. Her throat was parched again.

'What in the world is going on?' she thought to herself, doing her level best to remain as cool and collected as she could. 'This is George for crying out loud!' she argued as loudly as the inside of her head allowed her to.

'So?' her subconscious answered back.

'No, _so_ is not a reasonable response. There is no _so._ George and I are friends!'

'Good friends?' it asked.

'Yes, good friends.'

'Great friends?' it countered.

She paused before continuing, and then nodded subtly. 'Yes, great friends.'

'Special hand-holding, romantic dinners, gushy valentines, kissing in the rain kind of friends?' it shot back, and she blanched.

'No!' she answered, and very nearly shouted it aloud. Fortunately, she had slightly more control than that. 'We're just great friends. And that's all. That's all either of us wants, and that's all that both of us are looking for. And it's perfect just the way it is!'

'Really?' snooty subconscious answered, and if the voice wasn't simply acting as an extension of Livia's own thought processes, she might've been tempted to call it 'rude'. And that would've been pushing it. Talking to yourself was one thing. Calling yourself names was something else entirely.

'Yes, really. I'm perfectly content in calling him my friend, and leaving it at that!' she responded, and when her subconscious gave no witty gritty answer, Livia felt strangely proud of herself.

Then suddenly, it answered, 'Just as well. He probably is too.'

And despite the fact that she had fought hard to win the internal battle, Livia couldn't help but feel a bit torn inside. The truth was that he probably _was_ content in just being her friend. And before this evening, that reality had never bothered her. But somehow, Zoe's prodding that George couldn't _just_ be a good friend taking her on a _non-date_ dinner and movie threw her for an unexpected loop. Before this evening, she had been perfectly content with their platonic relationship. He was funny, and entertaining, and such wonderful company. He had been willing to let her into his life, and she felt no problem letting him into hers. She felt like he understood her, and even though they were literally worlds apart in such a way that one could never truly meld with the other, it didn't bother her.

And all of a sudden, all of that wasn't enough. In fact, their 'friendship' looked rather dim standing next to the mental picture of what they _could_ be. Yes, he was a wizard. Yes, he came from a world that she had spent her entire life rebelling against. Yes, he stuck out like a sore thumb in her own world. But wasn't dealing with all of that worth it if it meant finding someone...that certain someone?

She had no earthly clue. Men and relationships was Zoe's area of expertise, and rightly so. Livia had no business entertaining notions of romantic endeavors with the likes of George Weasley. If he had been interested in pursuing some sort of a...something...with her, he would have made his intentions known. But that hadn't happened. And the fact that she was sitting next to him waging this ridiculous internal battle with her own subconscious clearly meant that she wasn't ready to become emotionally invested in him.

'But a kiss doesn't have to be emotionally investing,' that tiny inner voice said, and without waiting for common sense to kick in, Livia crossed the divide between herself and George Weasley, and pressed her lips against his.

Somewhere in the furthest reaches of his mind, George could hear the noises from the television, but he couldn't for the life of him make a bit of sense out of it. At that moment, the only thing that made sense was the feel of Livia's lips.

At that moment, he couldn't help but feel like her lips were the _only_ things that had ever made sense.

And as quickly as she had crossed over to him, she was gone, and with it went most every bit of clarity that George possessed. His eyes opened slowly, and immediately, they found hers. And if the situation hadn't been so entirely unforeseen and awkward, he would have noted how ridiculously adorable she looked peering up at him through her lashes with a look that was half hopeful and half hesitant.

"You kissed me."

Livia swallowed hard, and sighed. "Yes."

"Why?" he asked, his voice sounding strange and far away to his own ears.

And she smiled shyly. "Don't know why, actually. I guess I just wanted to."

He nodded, unsure of what else to do. "And do you often do things simply because you want to do them?"

"I try to," was her answer, and strangely, it sufficed. He nodded his head once, a smirk forming on his lips. As one, they both turned back to face the television. And even though he wasn't looking directly at her, George could almost feel the tiny smile on her face. She was smiling for him. Out of bloody nowhere, this wonderfully bizarre muggle girl had looked over years of rebelling against wizardom, and kissed a wizard.

But he wasn't just a wizard. He was her friend as well. George the pure blood wizard was good friends with Livia the muggle, and that was perfectly all right.

George the pure blood wizard had been kissed by Livia the muggle. And that had been perfectly all right as well.

Simply because she wanted to. He could certainly respect that.

Without so much as a sound, George took her face in his hands, and kissed her back. And all at once, the world made perfect sense again. There was no war. No Voldemort. No Death Eaters. No dearly departed Headmaster. No estranged brothers. No friends in danger. No broken hearts. No pain. There was simply his lips and hers moving in a splendid rhythm.

And just as she had done to him, he pulled away from her a moment later, and relished in the flustered look on her face. Her beautiful face. After taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

"You kissed me."

George swallowed hard, and sighed. "Yes."

"Why?" she asked, her voice sounding strange and far away to her own ears.

And George smirked. "Don't know why, actually." And the whispers of a smile became a full fledged grin when she recognized her earlier words being thrown at her. "I guess I just wanted to," he said.

She nodded, sitting a bit more confidently now. "And do you often do things simply because you want to do them?"

George laughed quietly. "I try to." And even though his answer more than spoke for itself, he further proved his point by taking her hand in his.

Livia smiled at him, her eyes shining with laughter. "I'm a big proponent of doing just that!" she said, inching closer to him. George in turn did the same.

"I've noticed," he joked, smiling when the tips of their noses touched.

"And in my personal pursuit of acting on impulse, I'm in complete support of you doing that again."

At that, George laughed before placing a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. "All right. But only because I want to."

His lips crashed into hers.

* * *

_Two hours later..._

It was nearly 1:30am when Fred watched George swing open their apartment door, and slam it shut behind him.

"Darling, the neighbors!" Fred joked, batting his eyes in frilly way. George laughed, and tossed his jacket on the table where Fred was busy poking around the inside of a inside of a pocket watch.

"What's that you're working on?" George asked curiously.

Fred shrugged. "A bit of silliness, I suppose." And then he glanced up at George, and sniffed the air suspiciously. "You smell like a wet dog."

"Yeah, we sort of got caught in the middle of a rainstorm."

"We?" Fred asked before realization hit him. "Ah. You and Livia. I forgot that you two were going to bash around muggle London doing muggle things. How did it go?"

This time, it was George's turn to shrug. "It was great. I met her at her flat. Met her friend, Zoe. She seems lovely. A bit frightening, but not a cause for alarm. We had dinner. I almost assaulted our waiter, but settled instead on a well used Confundus Charm."

"Naturally."

"Of course. Then we went for a walk in this garden, saw a statue, transfigured twigs into pipes..."

"Naturally."

"Of course. And then we went to a muggle movie cinema where we watched a muggle film about dinosaurs that eat people."

"Muggles and their proclivities for gore."

"Naturally. And then we got caught in the rain, so we went back to her place to dry off. Had a bit of tea. Then I came home. All in all, not a bad evening," he finished.

Fred grinned. "Sounds like it. Sorry Angie and I couldn't make it." And he truly meant it. "With so much happening, she just really needed a bit of a break, you know? But I'm sure she would have had a great time. You know how much she loves assaulting waiters," he joked, and George laughed.

"Yeah, well, it worked out great. We had...fun. It was good to get my mind off of things." And Fred nodded, understanding the sentiment. With things as bad as they were, it seemed like most everybody was in need of a little break from reality. Unfortunately, deep down, Fred supposed that the time would soon come when restful and blissful escapes would no longer be feasible. And so it was necessary to get them in while they still could.

Fred shook his head to ward off any gloomy thoughts. He simply refused to end his evening on a bad note. Not when he and his brother had both enjoyed a singularly peaceful day. Not when they both had something to smile about.

And speaking of smiling. Fred glanced at George. "So, you and Livia, huh? All by your lonesome. Must have been dreadful," he said sarcastically. "So when are you two going to drop this charade, and admit that you love each other, snog for days, and then give mum the grandchildren she so desperately desires?" Although his words were in jest, the sense behind them wasn't.

But George simply shook his head. "It just isn't feasible."

"Why?" Fred asked, his voice finally taking on a serious tone.

"Because, I would essentially be painting a target on her back. I just couldn't do that."

Fred paused. "If there weren't any risks involved, then it wouldn't be any fun."

"Yeah, well, I can't justify putting her in any sort of danger all for the sake of having a bit of fun." And he paused to gather his thoughts. "Besides, boundaries have been set between us, and both of us are happy with them."

Fred sighed. There was no use trying to push George one way or another. The man was as stubborn as stubborn could be. And if he truly felt so strongly about remaining friends with Livia, then Fred would simply have to respect his decision. George was intelligent, and quite capable of making rational decisions on his own. "If you say so."

George nodded. "I do." And then he laughed. "Besides, could you see the two of us making any sort of sense? We're so vastly different. It would be a train wreck in the making."

And Fred laughed. "With her tendencies leaning towards clumsy, it could very well be a train wreck."

George smiled. "Yeah, I don't think she and I would be very good at it." And with that, he clapped Fred on the back, and began to slow trek towards his bedroom where dreams and sleep were calling him. Fred, in turn, went back to tinkering inside the pocket watch. But right before entering his room, George turned around and smirked wickedly. "But we're good at other things!"

* * *

**End Note: So there you are. Chapter Nine! And before you go freaking out, no, they did not have sex. Get your mind out of the gutter, dirty! Our Livia is just too much of a lady to pull that card out of her back pocket on a first date (or non date with a completely platonic friend). haha. So here comes the obligatory whine. **

**REVIEW! **

**REVIEW! **

**And just for a change of pace,...REVIEW! Let me know what you think. I think I love this chapter, but you're the reader. And at the end of the day, your thoughts are some of the most important. So let me know if this seemed too strange or too fast or too out of character. Personally, I think it fit right in. But that's just me. And lemme just say that this chapter evolved. Originally, it didn't end this way. Originally, there was a bit more...magic at the end. And I don't mean of the wizarding variety. Are you catching my subtle hints? Should I throw a ;) in there?**

**Anyways, drop me a line, and let me know what you think!**

**I'll have loads more free time next week, and so my goal is to have chapter ten up by next weekend! And if I get crazy great reviews, I'll just have to move that up closer. But if I get NO reviews, well...I just may...I will...all right, I got nothing. **

**See you soon!**

**-V. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia, Zoe, Gracie, Agnes, Edith, and Mr. Callahan are mine!**

**Author's Note: Hello all! I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to update. I've literally been working non-stop trying to finish up my assignments for school. I have one semester left before I graduate, and as can be expected, the work load has been a bit excessive. But I turned in all of my major assignments (which included a 27 page statistical analysis, a movie and ten page paper about my movie, and a 50 page semester plan- and all for one class, mind you) on time, and aced all of them! :) So while I wasn't able to satisfy both myself and all of you by updating this story, I did get the grade that I wanted. And the semester is finally over! Yay me! So I will have plenty more time to be able to update! Yay you!**

**The response for chapter nine was wonderful, and I can't thank you all enough for taking the time to read this story, and for letting me know what you think about it! This chapter goes out to all of my reviewers for chapter nine: .heaRt, betteroffbelieving, RoseblossomWarrior, Readerfreak10, won't be the Victim, quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, amberhathaway, nonicasweet, PianoPlayer00, WhateverMakesYouBreak, and theideaofyou. You all are brilliant, and wonderful, and oh so motivating! And a special thanks to nonicasweet for that private message this week that helped to kick me into gear! You're all awesome!**

**And quid pro quo- in the U.K., bangs are called 'fringes'. Totally didn't know that, but thanks to _quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers,_ I am ignorant of the fact no longer! Thanks friend!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  
- Albert Einstein_

Livia glared at her thumbnail, effectively chewed away to an unattractive pink nub, and chided herself for having spent so long gnawing at it. Was it really so hard? To put her hand on the doorknob, take a few steady steps past the entrance, and actually enter?

Her fingers tapped an off beat rhythm against her legs, and she took a deep calminmg breath. She could do this.

"Excuse me." The voice, however tiny, caused Livia to jolt, and she wobbled for a bit before catching her balance. Next to her was a cute little brown haired girl, no older than seven or eight, her eyes wide and unassuming behind her little glasses. "Are you going in?" she asked innocently.

Livia laughed aloud, if it could be called a laugh. More accurately, it was a cross between a laugh, a snort, a cry of disbelief, and a cough. But it got the point across well enough. "I don't think so. No."

The little girl nodded her head, turned on her heels, and made to enter the shop. But then, something made her turn around, and return her attentions to Livia who had once again resumed her awkward pacing. "Aren't you bored out here?" the little girl asked.

Livia looked up. "Me?" The question sounded as stupid outloud as it had in her head, but it hadn't stopped her from asking it. The little girl nodded. "No...why?"

"Cuz you're just standing out here watching everybody inside have fun." She took off her glasses, and busied herself with the task of wiping them clean of smudges. "You could come inside, you know."

Livia's eyebrow raised in amusement. "I know. And I will. In a minute." This only worked to partially satisfy the young girl's insatiable curiosity, and she bridged the gap between herself and Livia in five or six tiny steps. Livia, unsure of what else to do, resumed her place by the corner of the shop window, and tried her best to press her face against the glass and peek inside without being noticed.

After a moment or two of awkward silence during which Livia had _almost_ forgotten that the girl was standing there at all, the child spoke up. "Why are you spying on him?"

Once again, the voice managed to jolt Livia, and she managed to smack her forehead against the glass none too gracefully. Rubbing her head soundly, she turned on her heels to glare at the child, and had half a mind to tell her to leave. But Livia then sighed. Shouting at a seven year old hardly seemed like the most responsible course of action to take. While the girl was watching Livia with her big brown eyes, Livia took a moment to study the child. Considering the fact that she was comfortably traipsing around Diagon Alley, Livia suspected that she was probably a young witch, and that her parents were either somewhere nearby or worked in the alley. She was clearly too young to be attending Hogwarts, but it wasn't too unthinkable to imagine that she would be in just a few short years.

Livia smiled when she noticed the girl's shirt. "So you like _The Weird Sisters_?"

The girl's eyes lit up considerably, and she nodded. "I'm going to marry Myron Wagtail! He's wicked dreamy!"

Livia couldn't help but chuckle despite the fact that it was a little strange to hear a seven year old referring to a grown man as 'dreamy'. "Are you now?" The girl nodded again. "And how, may I ask, do you know that, little miss person whose name I don't know?" she asked with a smile.

The girl removed a piece of wrapped chocolate from her pocket, and took a rather hefty bite. "Gracie. And I asked him. In a letter. I sent it to him with my mum's owl. I'll probably get a reply any day now!"

Livia nodded in agreement. "When did you send the letter?"

"A year ago," Gracie said, licking the last bits of chocolate off of her fingers. Livia bit her lip in an effort to stop the inevitable laughter from bubbling over. "So I figure I should be hearing back from him soon."

"Of course," Livia said, trying her best not to shatter the poor little girl's hopes and dreams. But if Gracie had so much as a clue about Livia's skepticism, then she didn't let on.

"I'm hoping that we can get married before I turn eleven because then I'll be in school, and whenever he comes to visit, I'll have to hide him from all of my friends. Especially Margot. She loves Myron too. But not as much as I do."

"Well,...that's good."

The little girl nodded before turning her attention to the inside of the shop. "So are you going to marry that boy?"

Livia choked on the breath she was in the process of taking. "What?"

Gracie rolled her eyes. "Are you going to marry him?"

Livia swallowed. "Who?"

"Whichever boy you're staring at."

Suddenly, the conversation had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Livia fumbled. "I-I'm not staring at a boy. I'm not staring at anyone."

But the girl just crossed her arms, and smirked at Livia in a way that was much too knowing for a child her age. "Oh, yes you are. That's the same face I make whenever I look at my Myron. See? Now, your cheeks are getting all red! You definitely like a boy. So, which one is it?" She turned back to face the glass, and mentally began sorting through the boys. Livia looked around at the people passing by hoping beyond hope that someone, anyone, would claim this all seeing child. "Oh, is it Tommy Bane? It better not be because my friend Cora is going to marry him." For a moment, Livia wrestled with the idea of tiptoeing away before the young girl had time to notice. Her ego would wind up having to deal with a crushing blow, but it would be well worth it in order to avoid the awkwardness of the current situation. "I bet it's Drew. Is it Drew?" She glanced up Livia who simply shook her head dumbly. "Did you know that he can drink milk, and make it come out of his eyes? It's disgusting, and way cool!"

Livia sighed, and leaned her back against the cool glass. At this rate, she supposed she had little to worry about from Gracie. Between Tommy, Drew, and all the rest of the pre-pubescent boys dashing back and forth inside the shop, the girl was more than occupied.

"Oh, look!" Gracie squealed. "There's Mr. George. He owns the shop. Hey! Mr. George! Over he-" The hand clamped firmly around the little girl's mouth effectively cut her off from speaking, and she felt herself being yanked, quite roughly, to the ground. She turned her head sharply, and glared daggers at Livia who still had her hands wrapped around her mouth. Meanwhile, Livia, well aware of the fact that she had more or less assaulted the poor child within view of the entire alley, let go of Gracie as if the girl were on fire.

"Sorry!" Livia half shouted, half whispered. "I really didn't mean to do that. I just...uh...p-please don't tell your parents!"

But the spitfire seven year old was hardly appeased. "Why did you yank my head?" she yelled, causing Livia's eyes to widen like a pair of matching saucers. "I was just trying to say hi to Mr. George! What's wrong with that? Why would..." And then her eyebrows raised, and a smile erupted on her chubby little face. And the bottom of Livia's stomach dropped. Gracie's smile was strangely familiar. Sort of like the ones that Declan was so fond of sporting. Especially when he was about to really lay it into his sister. "Wait a minute! You like Mr. George?"

Livia shook her head wildly. "N-no! No no! I don't like...Mr. George. I just..."

But the girl's smile only grew. "Oh, yes you do! That's why you were standing in the window spying on him!"

Livia's jaw dropped. "I was not spying!"

"Yeah, and you were drooling."

"I was not!" Livia shouted, causing her to immediately offer her sincerest apologies to the mother whose baby had erupted into a crying fit as a result of Livia's shouting. When the baby finally calmed down, and his mother was marginally satisfied, Livia turned around, fully prepared to discontinue her discussion with Gracie, the four eyed fifty pound know it all.

But not at all surprising was the fact that Gracie was nowhere to be found. Livia's eyes darted up and down the street, and sighed. There was no sign of the little girl. Hopefully, her mother had tracked her down, and dragged her away, and if there was any justice in the world, Livia hoped that her mother gave her a good talking to about the merits of keeping her childish opinions to herself. Especially when they were right.

Livia shrugged, and turned back to face the window, and as if her face wasn't already devoid enough of color due to her fair complexion, then it was plenty white now. Gracie had taken little time weaving through the crowds of young wizards and witches till she found the nearest Weasley twin, and yanked on his vest for all it was worth. Livia saw Gracie smile at her wickedly before saying something to the man whose clothing she still had a firm hold on, and then her stomach dropped through the floor beneath her when the young girl turned and pointed at Livia through the window. Although the man has his back turned to Livia, she could easily see him to begin to turn around in response to Gracie's obnoxious pointing.

Luckily, her near panic attack state of mind had thrown her instincts into hyperdrive, and she dropped to the ground a millisecond later to prevent herself from being seen. And as quickly as she could possibly fathom, she mentally ran through her options.

She could dash through the shop, get her hands on that back stabbing little troll, and throttle her senseless. However, that particular option didn't ring sound to Livia, and so, as much as it bothered to do so, she trashed that idea.

She could run away. But that wouldn't work either. If the kid was smart enough to run into the shop in the first place, then she was probably smart enough to offer a decent description. And it probably wouldn't take George very long to figure it out.

Her safest option, unfortunately, was to play dumb, something that she occassionally excelled at. And so at breakneck speed, she entered the joke shop, and made herself look busy picking up bits and pieces of the items on display. And when she saw a bit of familiar ginger hair appear at her side, she inhaled deeply.

'Play it cool, Livie,' she thought to herself before turning on her heels. Her eyes widened. "Fred." Not George. Not George at all. When relief flooded through her veins, she nearly lost all of her composure, but then she remembered the mission at hand, and she went back to inspecting the trinket in her hand. "It's been a while."

He smirked at her, and the glint in his eyes did nothing to sooth her frazzled nerves. "Yeah, it has. How have you been?"

She smiled widely. "Good! I've been good. It's been good. Everything is..."

"Good?" he said, interrupting her on purpose, and she could feel her cheeks getting hot.

She nodded slowly, and then turned to place the Extendable Ears back on the shelf. "So, how have you been?" she asked, desperately trying to distract herself.

Fred shrugged good manneredly. "Oh, wonderful. Shop's been as busy as it could be, all things considering." She nodded. "I did just have an off the wall complaint from some kid, but I guess that's all a part of the business, you know?"

Livia laughed weakly. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Fred strolled past her, and straightened out a stack of products just on the other side of her. "Strangest thing though. She said that there was a girl just outisde the shop who was watching everybody quite oddly." Livia was silent. And he took this as a sign to continue. "A real creeper, apparently. Had her face all pressed against the glass." He turned to face Livia, but she had her eyes fixed on something on the far wall. It wasn't anything in particular. It just _wasn't_ him, and therefore was suitable. "Hey, weren't you just outside?" he asked suddenly.

Her eyes shifted, and met his. "Uh...y-yeah. Yeah, I was."

He rubbed his chin meaningfully as if hard in thought. "Well, maybe you spotted her, then."

Livia shook her head quickly. "Nope. Didn't see anyone out there." The words tumbled out of her mouth rather ungracefully. "The kid was probably just telling you a story. You know how kids are." And she and Fred shared a laugh.

"Yeah," he said once he had calmed his laughter. "But if she was telling a story, then she went through an awful lot of trouble to tell it. Gave me a pretty telling description of the girl. Said she had bright ginger hair."

Livia started playing with her orange hair nervously. "I-interesting. Probably narrows it down a bit. Not too many gingers running around." And to prove herself, her eyes began scanning the shop, as if on the look out for any ginger girls.

"Yeah, ginger does narrow it down a fair bit. But not as much as the fact that this creepy shop stalker apparently had blonde fringes as well." Livia cursed herself for having freshly bleached her bangs the day before, and when Fred took a slow step towards her, she swallowed. "Apparently, she was also wearing a pair of black glasses..." And ever so slowly, he brought his hand to her face, and poked his fingers through the frames. "With no lenses." And once again, Livia cursed herself for insisting on her strange fashion sense. The empty frames had seemed interesting and fun when she had slipped them on that morning. Now, she wanted to fling them across the bloody room.

The accomplished smirk on his face obviously told Livia that she was busted, but just to add insult to injury, Fred added: "And according to the kid, this girl was checking me out with _lust-filled_ eyes!"

"I was not checking you out!" Livia half shouted, and Fred laughed in triumph. "And I highly doubt that she used the words lust-filled...although I don't doubt that she was capable of doing so judging by the conversation she and I had outside." She felt her bottom lip dropping in a childish pout, but simply didn't care enough to fix it. When she noticed that Fred was still laughing, she balled up her fist. "And you're bloody awful!" she said, punching him in the arm.

But somehow, that only inspired more laughter from him. And that, of course, only worked to irritate her even more. "If I ever see that little hobgoblin again in a dark alley where there is virtually no chance of her correctly identifying me in a police line up, I'm letting her have it!" she growled.

Fred smirked as he leaned up against the wall casually. "So you would admittedly use brute force against a child and risk potential imprisonment just to defend your right to unreservedly gawk at George through the shop window?" He raised his eyebrows. "Your devotion to my brother is stirring."

Fortunately, using _brute force_ against Fred wasn't an option that she was forced to resort to as George had chosen that moment to turn the corner. And when Livia saw surprise in his eyes closely followed by a genuine smile, the butterflies in her stomach began nose diving rather ungracefully.

"What are you two up to?" George asked, emptying his arms of the boxes that he was holding, and placing them in their rightful spot on the shelf.

Fred shrugged. "Just catching up." And without a word, he pushed himself off of the wall, and strolled past his brother. But before walking away, he turned to face George, and smirked in a way that was strictly Fred. "I'd watch myself if I were you. You know, when she's around. She's admitted to beating up on kids, and honestly..." he said, rubbing his shoulder pointedl. "...I just don't feel safe around her anymore."

Livia balled up her fist again, but couldn't help but crack a smile while she did it. "You best watch yourself, of I'll hit you again."

"Looking forward to it," Fred joked before waltzing off to find Verity. Livia ran a hand through her hair nervously, and laughed before sparing a glance up at George.

"Your brother is a bit of a monster. You do know that, right?" she asked sarcastically.

But he just shrugged. "Only a bit, you say? That really is so sweet that you think highly of him. But imagine living with him." They shared a quick obligatory laugh before an awkward silence settled in between them. She made herself busy staring at her worn flip flops, but when she felt the typical tickle that always erupted in her neck whenever someone was staring at her, she looked up and found George watching her intently. George, on the other hand, was just the tiniest bit mortified that he'd been caught staring at her, and he averted his eyes as quickly as was wizardly possible.

Even though she was completely uncertain how to proceed, Livia figured that she was the one who had ventured the trip from her mother's book shop all the way to the joke shop just to see George. So really, it was only fitting that she initiate the conversation. The only problem was that she was at a complete loss as far as what to say. It was times like this that she wished she had learned a little bit more from all of the time spent watching Zoe engage in conversation with men. Zoe would know what to say or how to act in a situation like this. Livia was hopeless. And she knew it.

"So..."

George cut her off. "Do you want to go upstairs for a bit?" The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, but she understood them well enough.

"Uh,...sure." And just like that, the two of them made their way over to the staircase. When they reached it, George swept his arm in a way that he hoped seemed as gentlemanly as he had imagined it would, and allowed her to go up first.

When they were about half way up, Fred called out from the bottom step. "Where are you off to?"

Both George and Livia stopped dead in their tracks, and slowly turned around. Fortunately, George took the reins and answered. "It's a bit loud down here, so we're just stepping upstairs for a moment."

Fred smiled. "Yeah, you are." Immediately, Fred noticed that Livia was once again blushing like mad, but he didn't have a chance to point it at because George had all but shoved her up the remaining stairs closer to their door and farther away from Fred. Seconds later, they were safely hidden in his flat.

But somehow, while this had seemed like a great idea at the beginning, being alone in his apartment only worked to thicken the awkwardness. At least downstairs, they were able to distract themselves with people and with magical items galore. But in a quiet apartment, there was no such luck.

There was only George. There was only Livia. And there was only the massive elephant sitting in the corner waiting to be noticed.

George glanced up, and looked at Livia. She was busy closely inspecting her fingernails. And while she did that, he took a moment and really looked at her. There was no denying the fact that his heart had begun slamming against his rib cage the second that he saw her standing in the shop. And there was no denying the fact that putting his hands on her in order to propel her up the stairs had only succeeded in making him want to move his hands up her back and into her hair. Then, to her neck. Next, to her face. And then, to her lips. Those beautiful pursed heart shaped lips. And then...

"Are you wearing glasses with no lenses?" he asked suddenly. The room fell silent for a moment or two before Livia's composure cracked and two of them erupted into fits of laughter.

And when the laughter finally ended, so did the awkwardness. "So did you just come by the shop to wail on Fred?" he asked sarcastically as he passed her a glass of water and pulled out a nearby chair for her to sit at. Sit she did, and drink she did.

"Not exactly. Wailing on him was just an added bonus," she said, and he chuckled in reply. "Actually, I came to see you. I...I just wanted to tell you again how much fun I had the other night. Been a while since I did the whole dinner and a movie thing with anything other than Zoe. Nice change."

"Yeah," George said, his smiling fading the tiniest bit.

Livia's smile faded a bit as well. "But..."

At this, he looked up quickly. "But..." he said, inviting her to continue.

She swallowed. "But...I don't want us to m-move so fast that we lose sight of what we have now. You know?"

"Absolutely," George said quickly, relief flooding his veins.

"I mean, spending time with you is great. I really appreciate our friendship, and I appreciate you as a friend. And maybe, one day, I can learn to appreciate you...in other...ways. But I don't want to move so fast that we risk losing everything. Does...does that make sense?" Her voice shook with trepidation.

George nodded. "Completely. And I'm really glad you said something because I was actually thinking the same thing. You're a fantastic girl, and a great friend. And I would never dream of squeezing anything else out of this relationship that isn't meant to be there. Because then, I could lose you. And I don't want that. At all." He paused for a moment. "And, if anything happened to you because of your involvement with me, I would never forgive myself. And despite how peaceful things may look on your end, there's a war going on here. And I'd be putting you in danger. Do...do you understand?"

"Absolutely," Livia said quickly, and as if their actions mirrored one another's, they both stood to their feet.

George stretched out his hand. "So...friends?" he asked with a smile.

She smiled in return, and placed her hand in his. "Friends," she answered in reply.

But despite the fact that both of them had said that they wanted this, as their hands rested palm to palm and their fingers lay intertwined, deep down, neither of them truly believed it. She couldn't help but love the way that her small hand was engulfed by his. It made her feel safe and so utterly wanted. And he couldn't help but run his thumb in tiny circles against her skin, reveling in the feel of her.

Fortunately for George Weasley and Livia Daly, the safest and most sensible route had been laid down before them, and they were choosing to venture down that straight and narrow path.

Unfortunately for them, neither of them were ever very good at walking in straight lines.

"So, in order to celebrate our newly _refounded_ friendship, how do you feel about another dinner and a movie?" George asked, slowly letting go of her hand, and instantly missing the feel of it. "No expectations. No unwise decisions."

"No rainstorms," she added with a smirk.

"Right. No rainstorms. Just two friends enjoying one another's company. And it'll even be my treat." He threw in the last bit quickly. "I can swing by Gringott's, and exchange enough to cover the whole night. You won't have to pay for a thing. All you have to do is be there when I pick you up, let me pay for the food, enjoy the movie, and occassionally laugh at my jokes."

She peered off to the side, and tapped her chin as if in thought. "All right. I will be there when you pick me. I will let you pay for the food. And I'll even enjoy the movie. But I can't promise that I'll laugh at your jokes."

George shrugged. "That's perfectly fine. Friends don't always laugh at each other's jokes, right?"

"Right," she offered excitedly, but somehow, the use of the word 'friend' had thrown them both into a bit of a grey place once again. Eager to shrug it off, Livia looked up at him, and beamed.

"So Friday night, then?"

* * *

_Friday Night..._

"He was _not_ scared!" George exclaimed, laughing while he said it.

"Oh, yes he was," Livia answered, trying her best not laugh while she spoke, but failed miserably. "As if that weren't the sole reason that you chose to go to the exact same restaurant as last time."

George made a show of picking a piece of non-existent lint off of his sleeve. "I didn't even remember the _incident_ until you mentioned it."

But she just snorted. "Oh, that is complete bolloocks. You remembered it quite well. I remembered it. And the poor waiter sure looked like he remembered it. He practically bowled that poor old man right over in a pathetic attempt to get away from you when we walked in." Her Irish lilt was running full steam ahead while she ranted at him, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

Suddenly, George's restraint cracked, and the edges of his mouth turned upward. "That was pretty hilarious, wasn't it?"

Now it was her turn to act unasmused. "You think its funny that the poor boy is terrified of you?"

He nodded after taking a moment to think about her question. "Yes."

"He probably has trouble sleeping, thanks to you. Up all night, tossing and turning."

"With any luck."

She turned to face him and proceeded to walk backwards in order to keep up with him. And she tried oh so hard not to laugh at his genuinely pleased expression. "George, what if he needs therapy or something?"

"Then he can bill me," he said with a smirk. "Are you gonna finish that?" he asked, pointing to the melting half eaten ice cream cone in her hand. She took one look at the cone, and then shook her head. "Great. I've been lusting after it for the past ten minutes." He snatched it from her hand, and more or less attacked it while she licked her fingers clean.

* * *

_Their evening at a glance..._

In the effort to undo what had happened on their first 'non-date' friend date, George suggested that they recreate the events of the previous Friday, and do their best to make things right. So Livia made reservations for two at _Arcadia_, and the pair of them, once more, made for London's West End. The process of picking Livia up at her apartment went infinitely more smoothly for George because Zoe hadn't been there to stall...or assault Livia. But in a clever preemptive strike, Livia made sure to dress in something that Zoe would deem appropriate apparel for a night on the town.

It took no time for the two of them to get on the subway, and George was even looking forward to it. Fortunately, the train car was blissfully lacking the beady eyed woman with the horrendous chihuahua goblin. However, it wasn't lacking the presence of one _really_ upset baby. George and Livia had occupied the seats closest to the young mother and her infant offspring because there had been no other available seats. And while the train was stopped, and a fair amount of passengers were boarding or getting off, the baby was silent. And the vacant seats next to the mother seemed just perfect enough for two, so George grabbed them quickly, and he and Livia settled into them with twin smiles.

However, it soon became clear that the other passengers had known something that the pair of them didn't. When the train jolted from its parked position, and began rolling into motion, Livia and George quickly realized just why the seats directly near the young mother had been unoccupied. While the baby, like most, had a relatively tiny mouth, the sound erupting from it was not relatively tiny by any stretch.

George and Livia couldn't help but watch the frantic mother from the corner of their eyes as she balanced and bounced the baby with one arm and searched for something to pacify him with in the diaper bag. And when the noise became just too unbearable, George bent over, and politely whispered something to the lady. Her eyes widened and a grateful smile spread over her features.

"Yes, thank you!" she half shouted, and all but shoved the baby into George's arms, and then continued her search in the enormous diaper bag.

"What did you tell her?" Livia asked quietly.

George shrugged. "Felt bad for her is all. Asked if she wanted me to hold him while she tried to find whatever it was she was looking for."

And while Livia watched, George smiled at the baby, and began bouncing it on his knee. Livia's eyebrow raised in question. "You know how to handle babies?"

George playfully rolled his eyes at her. "Well, Ron and Ginny _are_ younger, so I got a fair bit of practice tending to kids. So yeah, I do know how to handle babies, thank you kindly."

She laughed at his mock rudeness, and took to watching him bounce the baby, play with the baby, talk to the baby, and make faces at the baby. And finally, after what felt like hours of incessant screaming, the baby hiccupped pathetically, quieted down, and looked up at George with its big blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. Livia smiled.

"Wow. You really did it," she whispered, and glanced around at the other passengers surrounding them. They were all wearing looks of amazement and relief.

George shrugged proudly. "Yeah, well, my mum used to say that some people just have a sort of magic touch when it came to babies. You either have it or you don't!" And he smiled smuggly at her.

Georrge looked back down at the baby, and when the baby looked up at him with a sort of shy smile, a strange warmth began to course through George's veins. And for a moment, a tiny part of him, a part buried in the furthest reaches of his mind, wondered if the warmth had anything to do with the fact that Livia was with him, watching him charm the baby, and he couldn't help but take a mental snapshot of the three of them sitting so closely. Almost- almost like a...family. Yes, the picture was just the tiniest bit perfect.

And it was because of that perfection that when the baby suddenly opened his mouth and let loose a cry more hideous than had been previous heard, that every passenger on that train car jerked in terror. George's eyes widened in fear, and he glanced quickly at Livia hoping for some guidance on the matter. Unfortunately, she had very little maternal instinct to speak of, and could only offer him a fearful shrug. Without a word, George passed the baby back to its frazzled mother, and subtly wiped his hands on his pants. Just in case it was catching.

He looked up at Livia, and saw that despite her obvious discomfort with the baby that was once again troubling the entire subway car with its violent screams, she was trying her best not to laugh at George's obvious failure. George smirked at her before saying, "Goblin." And she burst into laughter.

After the adventure that was the train ride, the two of them arrived at the restaurant, and they made it a point to order the same things that they had eaten the week before. All a part of their 'refriends' plan. She had the somerset pork while George sunk his teeth into a delectable beef wellington. Fortunately, he thought it best to bypass the ginger beer opting to avoid that particular part of the evening. However, he made very little attempt to bypass their former waiter, and George relished in the look of trepidation that crossed the poor fellow's face every time he happened to glance over at the pair's table. George could count on both hands the number of times, in his whole life, that people had been afraid of him.

Perhaps if he had been sorted into Slytherin House instead, he would've had more of a taste for it. But he was Gryffindor through and through, and instilling fear in the hearts of those around him was simply not his forte. However, he thoroughly disliked the bothersome waiter, and for a few moments, George entertained the idea of somehow slipping the unsuspecting chap a Puking Pastille. That would've knocked his ego down a few notches. Unfortunately, Livia seemed well aware of the thoughts racing through George's mind, and so he laid those plans to rest. The rest of the dinner continued without a hitch, and just as they had the weekend before, they left the restaurant after enjoying more than a few pieces of Turkish Delight, and made their way to the park.

Kensington Gardens were more or less empty which suited Livia just fine. The weather was perfect, the wind crisp. The flowers were in full bloom, and the scent of tulips and marigolds drifted on the evening breezes. It took the pair little time to locate the statue of Peter Pan, but George still found little to be interested in concerning "a spoiled boy who never grows up and lives in a tree". He did, however, find plenty of amusement in presenting Livia with a gift when she picked up a discarded twig, and pretended to mimic the statue. It was a beautiful hand carved pipe, much like the one that the carved likeness of Peter Pan was playing. She smiled, accepted the gift, and immediately fell into the pose, extending her arms and legs in a perfect imitation of the statue. And George, once again, considered the fact that he had yet to really see her dance. But when she put the pipe to her lips, and blew softly, ushering a haunting yet pleasing low note, and George burst into a fit of laughter, she immediately knew that something was wrong.

However, it wasn't until they made it all the way to the movies, and she stopped at the restroom did she figure out just what it was. And George was only a tiny bit frightened of her when she came barrelling out of the ladies restroom, her teeth clenched and her jaw tightened as she stomped her way over to him. She yanked him over to a discreit corner of the movie theatre lobby, and turned towards him with fire in her eyes.

"Whath ith thith?" she muttered, sticking her tongue out in a rather unattractive way.

George grimaced, and put a hand to her forehead. "Livia, are you feeling all right? Your tongue is lovely shade of violet!" And at that, he promptly erupted into laughter once again.

Her tongue disappeared behind her teeth. "You charmed the pipe? Is this supposed to be funny?" Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Not _supposed_ to be funny. _Is_ funny." And then he flinched when her tiny but slightly powerful fist came flying out of nowhere, and embedded itself in his stomach.

The movie went swimmingly enough as can be expected when you watch a movie that you've already seen, but George insisted that they see _Jurassic Park_ again, and so Livia kindly conceded. And yet, somehow, previously seeing the film did very little to curb George's excitement when the first dinosaur in the film appeared, and it likewise did very little to curb his excitement the first time one of the characters were mutilated by a dinosaur. In fact, seeing the film once already only served to give George more room to really enjoy the film and the entire movie watching experience, and he enjoyed it so much that when the middle aged woman sitting on the other side of him grimaced at a particularly gory scene, he leaned over and said: "The movie isn't real, you know."

Once more, Livia laughed.

And as the pair of them enjoyed the walk back to her flat from the subway station, they couldn't help but recap their eventful evening, and relish the fact that, at nearly one in the morning, they were virtually alone. The streets were pleasantly empty, and the streetlights that lined the sidewalk were on, providing a warm glow to the scene.

As they strolled in silence, George took a moment to study her from the corner of his eye. Her hair was much longer than it had been when they first met, extending a few inches past her shoulders. And it was much straighter these days than it had been previously. But if he knew her at all, he suspected that crazy unkempt hair was just around the corner. She couldn't do tame for very long. But then his eyes drifted to her face, and the way that it was framed by a dyed ginger color and topped with bleached blonde fringes, and he smiled. Even when she tried to do tame, tame wasn't the word he would necessarily use. 'Toned down', perhaps.

Since leaving the subway, she had abandoned her shoes, and chose instead to hold them in her hands, preferring to walk barefoot instead. And he was reminded, not for the first time since knowing her, and certainly not for the last time, how much like a little woodland nymph she was.

And it was then that he was struck with the sudden urge to run his hands through the little woodland nymph's hair, to feel her beneath his fingertips. And as if they were governed by a mind all their own, his hands began twitching, eager to find hers.

She turned to face him, and smiled. "Well, this is my stop. You're free to go!" And George looked up. Sure enough, they had made it all the way back to her apartment building, and he was forced to wonder just how long he had spent studying her. Surely, much longer than was appropriate for a _friend_. He swallowed hard. "Thanks for walking me home," she said, and then after a moment, smiled once more and added, "You're a good friend."

And even though he had been quite certain at the start of the evening that being Livia's friend was as much as he was willing to be, that word suddenly turned his stomach. Friend?

Angelina and Katie were his friends. And he was never overcome by the desire to press his lips against theirs. Not ever.

He took a subconscious step closer to Livia, and found himself strangely pleased when he heard her sharp intake of breath. He was pleased once more as he watched her bright green eyes travel down the length of his face, and stare at his lips. And although he couldn't be certain, he was quite sure that her hands were twitching just as badly as his were with the need to touch him.

As if pulled by some invisible, tightening string, the two of them took equally shaky steps towards one another, and all that could be heard was their labored breathing. Livia could feel her heart pounding within her chest, and she didn't mind it a single bit.

'Friend' suddenly rang through George's mind, and his eyes opened widely. And without a word, he snapped whatever hold this curious power held over the both of them, and he straightened himself with a shaky smile. He had to maintain composure. At the end of the day, it was his responsibility to put her safety above his desires. Simply put, he couldn't afford to be anything more than her friend. Not when it could put her in danger. He sighed.

"Technically, you're not home yet. In fact, you've got four stories to travel. And I would be remissing my duties as your _friend_ to not properly see you safely to your door. So in we go!" he exclaimed, and he took her hand in his without waiting for a response. But she offered none, and so they entered her apartment building. If she had anything to say about the cosmic shift that was currently occurring within their unusual relationship, she chose not to say it. After all, nothing about their relationship was _normal._

"Well, I'm exhausted, and I'm in no mood to haul myself up four flights of stairs," Livia said, yawning into her hand, and without waiting for him to respond, walked over to the elevator door, and pushed the button. Seconds later, the doors opened, and the pair of them entered the empty elevator.

George suddenly felt twitch return to his hands. Being all but tossed into a tiny square room where he was made to stand three feet away from Livia was effectively playing with his self control. And fate was having a marvelous time doing it. He planted himself against the wall opposite her, and watched as she did the same.

She smiled weakly. "Thanks for offering to walk me up to my door." Her fingers began drumming an awkward rhythm against the wall behind her, and it echoed in the tiny room. Above them, the door dinged quietly, signaling a warning that it was about to shut. A sort of last call for any people needing a lift. Only three more floors to go. George could do this. "Quite gentlemanly of you," she joked.

He just shrugged. "It's nothing that a _friend_ wouldn't do...for another friend."

Her smile grew. "Yep. Friends."

"_Friends," _George repeated, but his voice cracked.

Livia giggled. And the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Agnes began tapping her foot impatiently. "These bloody elevators always take so long to get anywhere. We'd have been out of the building by now if we'd just taken the stairs!" she exclaimed to her sister Edith. They were two of the residents of the fourth floor, and as it were, they were currently waiting for the elevator to reach them.

Edith grinned at her characterically impatient little sister. Despite the fact that both of the women were widowed and well into their late sixties, their personalities hadn't much improved since their childhood. Agnes was still as cranky and impatient as ever, and spending the better portion of three years cooped up in a cramped flat with her older sister had done nothing to better her attitude. However, Edith was ever the peacemaker. "It's almost here, you crazy old bat! And quit tapping before you break your other leg."

It was then that the elevator doors decided to open, and the two elderly women took steps forward to enter it. However, they were more or less shoved out of the way by a tangle of arms, legs, and lips.

"Oh, hello Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Carney," Livia said in a muffled way as she tried her best to pull away from George's lips. Unfortunately, it didn't last for very long, and with a laugh, she was pressed against his lips once again. Edith's jaw dropped in horror, and she all but ran into the elevator yanking her sister along with her saying something about 'propriety' and 'randy hooligans'. But Agnes was content to watch the two young people make complete spectacles of themselves in the middle of the hallway, and she laughed for the first time in nearly four months!

"Would you look at that!" she exclaimed as the elevator door began to shut. "Her tongue is violet, it is!" And then the two sisters were gone behind the closed door. But Livia and George had hardly noticed as they continued to move further down the hallway towards Livia's door. She felt as if fireworks were going off behind her closed eyes, and she smiled against George's lips.

"What?" he asked, pulling away for a moment, and relishing in the look of a disheveled Livia.

She smirked. "I just think its a bit funny that the whole point of this venture was to recreate an evening that didn't end up with us snogging. And to think, all that's missing to make this night more or less just like the last one is the rain."

George nodded. "Right. Rain means more snogging. This should take care of that." And he pulled his wand out of pocket, fully intending to cast whatever spell he needed to cast in order to assure that this evening end up as productive as the last one did. But Livia just squealed in delight, and yanked his wand out of his hand.

"Not in the hallway, you daft git! How in the world do you expect us to explain torrential rain in the middle of the fourth floor hallway?"

George smirked, leaning closer to her. "Bad plumbing. It was our go to excuse every time we did it at Hogwarts."

"And did it ever work?" she asked, backing away from him slowly until her back hit the wall, and she bit her lip in eager anticipation.

"Never," he said before he closed the gap between them, and kissed her once again. And it was in that manner that they continued down the hallway, edging closer and closer to her door.

In a way that was solely Livia, she tripped on her own feet, and nearly hit the floor if it hadn't been for his arms tightly wound about her. But instead of allowing her to steady herself, he simply wrapped his arm beneath her legs and picked her up bridal style. She laughed at what she could only imagine was a ridiculous sight, and hoped that none of her nosy neighbors were peeking at them through their peep holes.

But as it were, she had little time to wonder about that because George's lips were on hers once more, and her hands instinctually circled around his neck, her fingers moving at a teasing pace through his ginger hair. And he nearly dropped her. Fortunately, he caught himself before doing so, and focused on the feel of her in his arms. He was obviously a fair bit taller than she was, but that only meant that she fit perfectly against him. And perfection was the only word that could effectively describe how it felt holding her against him in such a way. Perfection was the only word that could describe how it felt as her dainty fingers splayed themselves behind his neck, and worked themselves in his hair. Perfection was the only word that could describe the way that she tasted. Yes, she tasted like perfection- and strawberry ice cream.

After what seemed like ages, they reached her door, and her feet hit the floor unceremoniously. But then came the task of actually opening the door. He kissed her hair while she dug through her purse for her keys making it nearly impossible to locate them. But locate them, she did. Then came the task of actually unlocking the door. That, of course, was only made more difficult by the feel of his hands on her waist. But she pressed through it, and was rewarded when the faithful 'click' alerted them both that the door had been successfully unlocked. He spun her around to face him, and she couldn't help but dwell on the fact that while she had been spun during a dance hundreds of times by any number of men, none of the spins had ever ended with a kiss quite like this. And while George pressed her lithe frame against the door, her hands fumbled behind her in desperate search for the door knob. And then her hands were upon it.

If it hadn't been for the yapping that suddenly erupted in the hallway, the moment might have ended quite perfectly. "Oh, Livia dear, how lovely to see you." Livia and George froze in their places, and their heads turned towards the sound. An elderly gentleman with a slight hunch in his back crept down the hallway past the pair of them, his feet adorned in a pair of worn blue bunny slippers. He was holding on tightly to the leash as his terrier barked and growled like mad at George. Livia smiled shyly.

"It's nice to see you too, Mr. Callahan. Out for a late night stroll with Sophie?" George turned and looked at her in a pointed way that asked the question 'Really? Engage him in conversation? Now?'. But she just shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what else to do. The old man smiled, his handlebar mustache twitching from side to side as he spoke.

"Oh, yes. Poor Sophie was getting a bit irritable sitting in the flat. Seems her dog walker forgot to pick her up for her evening walk." He scratched his head. "Or else, I was asleep and didn't hear her when she came by. I'm a bit hard of hearing these days, you know." And George's eyebrow raised. These days? The man looked near one hundred, and it seemed as if the only thing holding him together was his striped pajamas and worn bath robe. More likely, his hearing had been hard for the past decade. And as if his expression relayed exactly what he was thinking, Livia half glared at him, and scolded him silently. But she was betrayed by a tiny smile.

She sighed and ran a weary hand through her hair. "If you'd like, Mr. Callahan, I can walk Sophie for you. It's a bit chilly outside, and I'd hate for you to catch a cold."

Old Mr. Callahan clapped his hands weakly. "Oh, would you, dear? That would be quite lovely. Thank you so much."

She smiled. "Not a problem. Why don't you go back inside, and I'll swing by to pick her up in just a moment, yeah?"

He nodded slowly, turned slowly, and then made his way back towards his door. Slowly. But upon reaching his door, he turned back to face George and Livia. "Oh, my dear, did you happen to see any paperboys milling about, did you? I didn't make it out on time this morning to get my paper, and I do so hate missing my paper." His voice shook with his age.

"Actually, I don't think that there were. It's a bit late." The poor man probably had no idea that it was well past midnight. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "Tell you what, though. I finished reading my paper this morning. When I come by to get Sophie, I'll bring it over. That is, if you don't mind a bit of coffee spilled on page four."

Mr. Callahan laughed. "Not at all, dear. Not at all." It was then that he chose to look up at George. "She's an angel, that one." George looked down at her, and noticed a faint blush in her cheeks. He smiled.

"I'm well aware."

Mr. Callahan nodded, and then disappeared into his apartment. The hallway fell silent.

A few seconds passed before Livia finally managed to look up at George, and considering the fact that she was expecting him to be quite cross with her, she was instead surprised to find him smiling at her. She heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, I guess I should go inside. And you should go." Her voice was small and quiet.

"Yeah, you've got a paper to deliver and a dog to walk," he said, just as quietly. She opened her mouth to try and apologize for cutting their evening short by offering to run errands for her neighbor, but all she saw in his eyes was understanding. And she knew deep down that he wasn't cross with her. She opened the door behind her, and stepped in without a word. She tossed her bag and shoes on the floor, and turned on her heels to face him.

"Well, so much for trying to undo last Friday," she said, with a tiny smile and a fitting blush.

George laughed. "Yeah, that didn't work out entirely as planned."

"I'd say not at all." And she leaned her head against the door frame. "Night, George."

He breathed in deeply. "Goodnight, Livie." And like that, he turned and began the walk back towards the elevator, and she shut the door behind her.

But it wasn't but four or five seconds later that a frantic knock on the door brought her back to it, and she opened it quickly.

"So, just to clarify," George started. "All of that stuff about being friends was..." He trailed off, and looked at her.

"Bollocks," she said with a smirk.

And it was a twin smirk that he gave her in return. "Fantastic." And just as he had done seconds before, he turned on his heels, and began the task of walking back towards the elevator. And just as she had done seconds before, she shut the door behind her.

But once again, no time had passed before she was once more racing towards the door to answer his hurried knocks.

She laughed as she swung it open. "What do you w..." He took her hand in his, and gently pulled her closer. And holding her face ever so softly, he pressed his lips against hers, and listened to her pleased exhale. It was by no means as passionate a kiss as theirs had been in the hallway while their hands and lips frantically seized one anothers. But it was no less affecting, and it was no less fervent. Simple. Delicate. Quite perfect.

George pulled away slowly, and then pressed a quiet kiss to her forehead. "Forgot to kiss you goodnight." That was all he said before once more, and for the last time, turning away from her, and towards the elevator. And she once more, and for the last time, shut the door behind her. But this time, she couldn't help but lean up against the door, and slide to the floor in a crumpled and blissful heap.

* * *

**End Note: So, there it is. Chapter Ten. Hope it didn't disappoint. Don't worry. Livia and George are lovely, but things aren't slated to be all roses and sunshine for them. Don't lose sight of the fact that this story takes place within the novels. We're stepping into _Deathly Hallows_ territory. And so things are about to get...exciting.**

**And I apologize if you received two email alerts for this chapter. I made sure to notify everyone who has reviewed for chapter ten so far. But after reading it again, I found so many errors, I just couldn't stand it. So I pulled the original chapter ten, and did a bit of re-tweaking. If you've no idea what I'm talking about,...then ignore this. :)**

**Thanks for reading. Now, push that little button below, and let me know what you thought!**

**See you soon!**

**-V.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: Hey everybody. So obviously this latest update was a bit later than I had hoped for or promised, and for that, I apologize. I've had a lot of things going on (none of them terrible), and I'm convinced they were all working together to keep me from finishing this chapter. I've been working on it for quite some time, and every time I managed to settle down and work on it, something else got in the way. C'est la vie! So here it is. But before we continue, I would like to give a HUGE SHOUT OUT to the people that drove me to actually finish this thing! You all have been so wonderfully supportive, and the reviews that you continually leave are amazing. So in order of appearance, thank you to: _Quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, RoseBlossomWarrior, amberhathaway, .heaRt, nonicasweet, bluemickey22, Charlie167, UndeniablyBritish, TheAudaciousButterfly, theideaofyou, Whatever Makes You Break, Dear Padfoot, Red red red ribbon, andyandava, _and last but certainly not least_, mooonyy. _Fifteen reviews for chapter ten. That's friggin' fantastic! You all are the best! So this one is for you!**

**Hope it doesn't disappoint.**

**And so, without further ramblings, here we go!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_"The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body."_

_-Publilius Syrus_

**Sometime in Mid-July**

Ginny's eyes followed George as he chewed relentlessly on the tip of the pen that he was using- or rather, not using, to write. By the small size of the paper, it was obvious to any onlooker that he was attempting to write some sort of message.

Most likely, it was one to be sent by owl as it was one of last few reliable ways of exchanging information any more. Voldemort's hold on the Ministry was tightening. And even though Ginny received a fair share of seemingly careless and carefree smiles from the Order members that were utilizing the Burrow as their make shift headquarters, she knew them all well enough to know when they were merely smiling for her sake. As if she wasn't old enough to know the truth, or perceptive enough to recognize it, or mature enough to handle it. She was all of those things, and she bloody well deserved to be treated as such. She shook her head, struggling to get back to her previous train of thought. George. She glanced at him again.

He was still chewing on the pen tip, and if at all possible, he looked even more downcast than he had only seconds before.

"Ginny dear, could you..." Molly started as she neared her daughter, but at once, Ginny looked at her and motioned for her to approach quietly. Molly, only too curious to know just what had captured her youngest's attention did so promptly, and joined Ginny in watching George.

"What do you think he's doing?" Ginny asked.

Molly, in return, simply tilted her head and sighed. "I'm not sure, love." And with a tiny smile, she placed a well meaning kiss on Ginny's temple, and skirted away to rejoin her husband in the adjacent room. Ginny supposed that there was some sort of meeting going on. No doubt regarding Harry, and the ever pressing need to get him away from Privet Drive and into safety. And for what was probably the fiftieth time in the past hour, Ginny felt a rush of fear for Harry's life.

In need of a hasty distraction to pull her away from more incessant worrying, Ginny took the five or six necessary steps, and made her way over to her brother. At the very least, he had ceased chewing on the pen and was opting instead to write with it. She hoped that was a good sign. She came up beside him, and watched him for a moment, giving him leave to notice her first. And notice her he did. She knew that he did. However, he didn't acknowledge her. It was probably his way of letting her know that he wasn't entirely in the mood for her company at the moment. Unfortunately, in Ginny's opinion, neither was anybody else, and so George, as her big brother, would simply have to deal with it.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly. He sighed heavily, and immediately, she felt the tinges of guilt begin to creep up on her. Perhaps she should've let him be after all. There were few things that she could tolerate, and George being cross with her simply wasn't one of them. Fortunately, he turned to look at her, and smiled softly.

However, she was well familiar with that smile. It was the same sort of smile that everybody else had been giving her. Sweet and sweetly insincere. Like they were trying to hide the truth from her. She was tempted to get upset once again at the ridiculous notion that she was somehow less able to handle what was really going on.

But almost immediately, her sisterly instincts snapped to attention. They were the same sisterly instincts that had helped to preserve her and keep her mildly in tact all throughout her childhood. Being the lone daughter in a household full of sons had forced her to adapt and accomodate. Wit and wiles had never been enough. She had learned that lesson early- well before age four. No. It had been completely necessary not only to learn how to read her brothers, but also to read them correctly. Every time.

And as she studied the smile on George's face, she knew immediately. Yes, he was smiling just the same as everyone else, so as to keep the truth from her. But he wasn't trying to hide the same truths as everyone else was. In fact, the more closely she scrutinized his smile, his stance and posture, and the disappointment behind his eyes, the more certain she became that his disposition had nothing to do with Harry Potter.

"I'm just...," he considered his words for a moment. "...replying to an invitation."

Her eyebrow raised. "An invitation to what?"

But George Weasley would not be baited. He smirked at his one and only sister. "A thing." His response was strangely aloof as was his smile, but she knew better than to take it personally. Whatever he was trying to keep to himself, he must have had fair reason to.

George moved past her towards the window, but stopped long enough to ruffle her hair affectionately. She had half a mind to let him have it for mussing it up, but she was far too interested in watching him. He made it to the window, secured the message with old Errol, and watched as the owl departed from the Burrow.

"George," Fred called out causing both George and Ginny to turn. "Snape's just arrived. I suppose the final bits of preparation are in order. Anyways, mum's asked me to come and fetch you. They're all waiting." And with that, Fred retreated back behind the closed door that Molly had also disappeared behind. The room where all the Order Members were currently meeting, no doubt hashing out the last minute details of Harry's great and ever pressing rescue. The room that Ginny wasn't allowed access to.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, well aware of the fact that her childish attitude wasn't helping the situation a bit. She turned back to face George, but he had resumed his post at the same window that Errol had just departed from. George's eyes followed the night covered silhouette of the owl long after it was out of sight before he finally pulled himself away from the window. And after offering Ginny one more well meaning albeit slightly unconvincing smile, he too disappeared into the room.

* * *

"Skanky."

Zoe's jaw dropped dramatically. "Are you serious?" Livia nodded once before returning her attention to the entertainment magazine that she held in her hands, and continued to flip through the pages. Zoe, on the other hand, stared hard at her reflection in the nearby full length mirror that hung in Livia's bedroom. "This is not skanky. And th' last outfit was not skanky. And neither was th' outfit before that. Either you start varying up th' mild insults that you're choosing to attach to all a' my new clothes, or kindly remove yourself!" Her Jamaican accent was always the most pronounced when she was slightly irritated, but it only caused the hint of the smile on Livia's face to grow into a full fledged grin.

"You know, there's no point in a guy buying the farm when you're giving it away!"

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "Are you callin' me a cow?"

"I'm just saying that it might do you some good to make these guys work for it a little bit. You know, before you work it," she said with a laugh.

"Oh, please!" Zoe exclaimed. "You'd have me dress in a burka if you could have your way!"

Livia smiled in an alarmingly charming way. "To keep you safe? Yes. That or a very flattering habit."

And Zoe growled. "I don't know why I bother askin' you!" Her tone was offended, but Livia knew better than to worry.

"I can see the tattoo of Vincent's name without even trying to look!" she said with a laugh. Once more, Zoe frowned before craning her neck in a sad attempt to look behind her at her reflection. Sure enough, the tattoo that simply featured the word 'Vincent' surrounded by poorly drawn kisses was easily seen riding precariously low on the small of her back. Ordinarily, the tattoo was covered up by jeans. However, the leather mini skirt that she was currently wearing did very little by way of covering it up.

The tattoo had been a product of a drunken evening during a brief but memorable fling in Zoe's torrid romantic history. And after Vincent suddenly left town with a couple of rough looking Italians hot on his trail, the tattoo remained to be seen as a bothersome reminder of a the grungy looking guitarist from a pathetic punk rock band whose _mass_ following only included the members of the band themselves.  
Of course, Zoe wasn't all tears when he left. She had with her the constant encouragement that on the same night that she allowed herself to be permanently branded with Vincent's name, he had given her the same courtesy as a good- and rather inebriated- boyfriend should. Unfortunately, his tattoo also said 'Vincent', and was adorned with similar kisses. A bit of miscommunication between the slurring Vincent and the unamused tattoo artist.

Zoe laughed at the thought before turning her attention back to Livia. "Yeah, all right. I suppose th' skirt is a bit...on th' small side." And when Livia laughed, Zoe offered her a snarky smirk in reply before retreating back into the walk-in closet. But when the sound of rustling clothes and zippers reached Livia's ears, her smile fell.

"Zoe, another one?" she whined.

"What's one more dress?" was Zoe's reply.

"You've said the exact same thing for the past three outfits," Livia said, but her voice was hardly angry. In her relatively short life, she had learned that it suited her best to reserve her anger for more deserving people on more deserving occasions. In regards to Zoe, the occasions were few and far between. In regards to Declan on the other hand, the occasions were a bit more frequent.

Zoe stuck her head outside of the closet door revealing mussed up hair and bare shoulders. "And you've managed to get through this ordeal more or less alive," she joked. "And so I say again, what is one more dress?" Her head disappeared back into the closet. "Besides," she added as an afterthought. "If you 'ad any sense of adventure, you'd be in here picking out something to wear too! A hot new club opening up doesn't 'appen every day, you know!" And with a grunt as stumbled in her five inch heels, she stepped out of the closet, and took her position in front of Livia. "All right. What about this one?"

Livia looked up and smirked. "Are you sure you're going to a club and not a luau?" Zoe's top, if it could be called a top, did less to cover the poor girl than one of her bras, and if Livia squinted, it bore a striking resemblance to a pair of clam shells.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" Zoe asked to which Livia's reply was simply "Yep", and with that, the girl retreated back into the closet. "See, Livie? This is why you need to be there wit' me tonight. I can't be trusted to make wise decisions."

Livia laughed from her spot on the bed. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely. You're like that cricket wit' th' top 'hat!"

Now, ordinarily, a statement like this made by anyone other than Zoe would've either confused Livia or offended her. After all, being compared to a bug wasn't something that she typically considered complimentary. But the two of them were so like minded that while the statement teetered on vague, Livia knew quite well what Zoe was trying to say. And although Livia wasn't a fan of insects, she had a fair bit of respect for _Jiminy Cricket_.

"Really?" she asked with a smile that Zoe returned as she stepped out of the closet in yet another ensemble.

"Really. Ever th' voice of reason keepin' me out o' trouble. I'd keep you on my shoulder if I could. Just like th' puppet boy. But I think my boss would be none too pleased." Her smirk belayed her sincere tone.

Livia simply flipped through another magazine page, her attention momentarily caught by some article about some actress cheating on some husband with some musician. After skimming through the mildly entertaining story, Livia glanced up to find Zoe still waiting for some sort of response, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Zoe, I can't go tonight. Are you crazy? And what? Just call up my director, and tell him that the principal female dancer in the show is too busy dancing it up in some club to attend a rehearsal just one week shy of opening night? Do you know what he'll say?" she asked, and Zoe rolled her eyes at Livia's dramatic airs. "He won't say a word. Not to me anyways. But he will have some rather lovely things to say to my understudy. Things she's been dying to hear. I'm sorry, Zoe, but I just can't, all right?"

Zoe sighed although she did it with a tiny smile on her face. "Fine, you big baby!" she exclaimed, but Livia knew better than to take the girl seriously. "Why don't we change the subject, an' talk about somethin' less heated." And with that, she plopped herself on the bed beside Livia. "How are things going wit' Georgie boy?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows in a playfully suggestive way.

Livia laughed before abandoning the magazine. "Fine, I suppose." Her words weren't nearly as convincing as she had hoped, and Zoe wasn't easily persuaded.

She looked pointedly at Livia. "And what does _'Fine, I suppose'_mean exactly?"

Livia shrugged. "It means just what it says. I suppose that things between us are fine."

"But what do you mean by jus' fine?" Zoe asked, her shoulders dropping in concern. "Just a week or so ago, you were meltin' into a puddle every time I so much as mentioned th' boy's name. And now things are jus' fine?"

Once again, Livia shrugged, but it was slightly less carefree than it had been the first time. "Well, that was a week or so ago when George and I were actually making time to see each other. And things were going great. And we were talking and owling and laughing all the time."

Zoe blinked. "Well, what's 'appened since then?"

"I..." Livia started. "I don't really know. He's seemed a bit...preoccupied recently. B-but I understand completely," she rushed to say. "I mean, I understand that he runs a business, and can't always be bothered. But it's...it's just that he's been _more_busy than usual. Lots of stuff going on at the shop, and all. You know how it is!"

At that, Zoe smirked. "Runnin' a magical joke shop? Actually, I don't!"

At the very least, Livia had the sense to laugh before shaking her head at her best friend's realistic and somewhat sardonic sense of humor. She ran a weary hand through the messy pony tail that lay fixed atop her head. "I'm probably just overreacting over a lot of nothing. It isn't like George _has_ to find time to fit me into his busy schedule, and it isn't like he _has_to drop what he's doing in order to respond to a bloody message."

"Are you daft?" Zoe exclaimed. "Of course he has to do those things. Those are the types of things that are expected of boyfriends. I don't think that it's too much to ask of him!"

But at her heated response, Livia could only avert her eyes in embarrassment. "Well...actually, he isn't exactly my boyfriend."

Zoe shook her head in confusion. "I'm not followin'" she offered.

Livia's fair complexion left her at a bit of a disadvantage as Zoe was able to easily notice the slight blush that rose to her friend's face. It was the tell tale sign of the girl's obvious embarrassment. Livia's eyes met her friend's. "We haven't...exactly...settled on just _what_ we are...yet." Zoe's confusion only deepened. "I mean, I think we're well past the point of just being _friends_, but I'm not sure just how far past that point we actually are."

"Well, what did he say when you asked him?" Zoe asked, but Livia's only reply was a half shrug. "You mean to say you haven't talked to him about it yet?" Once again, Livia chose to respond with a pointed gesture- this time, a nod- rather than with words. Zoe's eyes widened. "Girl, are you out of your mind? Th' two of you have been goin' on dates for over two weeks now. Granted, two weeks doesn't mean that it's time to pick out your China patterns, but I think it warrants the _talk._Just what have you two been doin' for the past two weeks?"

Livia had the good grace to look slightly ashamed as her cheeks reddened although her slightly guilty smile was enough to offset any real embarrassment. Zoe rolled her eyes. "You mean to tell me you've been snoggin' the boy for half a month, an' you're not even sure what you are to him? An' you're goin' on and on about _me_giving away the farm!" Now, it was Livia's turn to roll her eyes, and Zoe's turn to have a little fun at her expense. It was their way, after all. "Not only are you givin' away your farm, you gave away the farm next door as well!" And her voice broke into a laugh, one that Livia eventually caved in and joined.

But their laughter was cut short when the sound of gentle rapping reached their ears, and as one, they stood to their feet and followed the sound into the living room. And when they did, Livia's eyes widened in excitement, and she all but ran to the window, and retrieved, with haste, the message that George's owl had for her. She spared Zoe a tiny smile, and in return, the Jamaican beauty smiled back before plopping unceremoniously onto the couch to watch Livia. The red head unfolded the message, and her eyes darted to and fro in a hurry as she read his response. But she had barely made it through half of the note before the grin faded from her face, and Zoe watched as Livia's shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment.

"What's it say, Liv?"

Livia bit her lip for a moment before answering. "Um...he said that he wouldn't be able to make it."

"To what?"

She sighed. "To opening night of the show. I reserved him a seat, and sent him the ticket, but he can't make it. That night...or any other night, actually. He said that he'll be tending to business over the next month, and therefore regrets to inform me that he'll be unable to attend my show at all."

Zoe frowned. "_Regrets to inform _you?"

Livia tried to laugh, but failed quite dismally. "Yeah. His words. Not mine."

The room fell strangely silent for a moment as the two girls mulled over their words until Zoe stood to her feet in a huff. "Stupid prat!" she all but shouted.

But Livia just shook her head. "No, he isn't," she said softly.

"Yes, he is!" Zoe returned. "You don't lead a girl on till she lets you in, an' then disappear without a word once you're bored."

Now, it was Livia's turn to plop onto the couch. "That's not what he's doing, Zoe." Unfortunately, her words didn't carry quite the amount of conviction as she had hoped.

"Oh, isn't it? He won't respond to you other than to tell you that he won't be respondin' to you. Doesn't make time for you. And _can't_ make it to your show? The bloody thing runs for two weeks! You mean to tell me th' boy can't find th' time to _squeeze_you into his busy life? That's not how relationships work, Liv!"

"But we aren't _in_a relationship, Zo!" Livia all but shouted, running an exasperated hand through her hair. "We're ju..."

"Jus' friends?" Zoe cut in, her voice startingly soft. So much so that Livia looked up in surprise, and watched as her best and most loyal friend lowered herself onto the couch besides her. "Livie, I've seen the way that boy's looked at you." Livia opened her mouth to respond, but Zoe didn't give her time to. "And I've heard every tiny detail about him since th' first time you knocked him off his feet!" This time, Livia had no words. "Th' two o' you may not know jus' _what_you are, but I can tell you this much. You're not friends. Not anymore. That line was crossed a long time ago. And no matter what you are now, th' way he's treatin' you jus' isn't right." And she took Livia's hands, and wrapped them up in her own. "You deserve better than that."

Livia worked hard to keep her bottom lip from quivering. She simply refused to be _that_ kind of a girl, and Zoe continued. "An' unless this boy has got a good reason for doin' you this way, than he best watch himself because I'm th' the best friend, and its my responsibility to crush him if he hurts you! Remember in _Rocky IV_when that Koloff guy was talkin' about th' Russian fighter, an' he said 'Whatever he hits, he destroys'?" she said in her best imitation of a manly voice- which unfortunately for her, was shoddy at best.

Livia nodded, and couldn't stop the incoming smile from invading her features. "So you're going to _destroy _George?" she asked sarcatically, lifting her legs from off of the floor and stretching them carelessly across Zoe's lap. The Jamaican girl simply nodded smugly. "But didn't Bob Marley say 'If puss and dog can get together, why can't we love one another?'"

Zoe's black eyes narrowed. "Jus' because th' man was a brother doesn't mean I prescribe to everythin' he sang!" she said with a smirk. "If you recall, he also said 'Herb is th' healin' of a nation'!" And the girls burst into a fit of laughter.

Unfortunately, the laughter only served as a break for so long before their previous conversation and Livia's current situation rose, once again, to the forefront of their minds.

Livia heaved a loaded sigh, and against her better instincts, Zoe felt the unmistakable feel of a tug on her heart strings. "Maybe...maybe he has a good reason for this," she said softly.

"Yeah," Livia offered after a moment. "Maybe." But the word fell from her lips haphazardly, and she tried her best to shake her head clear of her current emotions. After all, it would do little good to fret over something that she had no control over. And keeping a tight hold on a wizard that may want very little to be held onto was something very much out of her control. No matter how badly she wished otherwise. She glanced up at Zoe and found her brown eyed companion staring off into space. Livia smiled in spite of everything. "By the way Zo, this outfit?" Zoe, in turn, shifted her gaze. "This is definitely the one."

* * *

**July 25, 1997  
**  
The house lights dimmed to a comfortable glow, and the air in the theatre was charged with something very much like its own brand of magic. The seats were, for the most part, completely empty save for the three or four occupied seats in the front row where the company director and choreographers sat. The men and women talked quietly amongst themselves, calling out last minutes cues and directions as needed, but when the accompaniment piece's first few notes began to drone and rise, their discussions began to taper off.

And when the principal female lead took her first few steps in time with the music, her frame lithe and slippery, their discussions ceased completely. And as if in practice for the opening night performance, every eye in the house, both in front of the stage and behind it, fell on her as the responsibility of starting the show without any mishaps or missteps rested on the girl's shoulders.

However, it was one pair of eyes belonging to an individual sitting in the very back of the theatre that was most to the dancer onstage. It had taken George Weasley more than a few seconds to recognize Livia when she first appeared. Her hair was a far cry from its typical chemically induced strawberry red. And as she glided across the stage, his eyes were all but glued to her newly bleached blonde hair. He supposed it was simply her way not to grow accustomed to any one look, but it was certainly one that he hadn't expected to see when he snuck into the theatre.  
Her hair was loose and messy as it invaded her face while she leaped and stretched, and it cast the illusion of a sort of a halo atop her face.

Yes. A chaotic and ever changing halo on a renegade angel.

Her expression was listful and yet surprisingly peaceful, and certainly much more at home than he had ever seen her look before. As though she were born for that stage, and for that music, and for that dance.

Perhaps she had been.

His eyes drifted to the rest of her, and widened. From what she had told him about dance, he supposed that the number was contemporary in nature, but were all contemporary dancers required to wear such appealing costumes? The outfit clung to her skin in all the right places with a shirt that moved like blank ink in water. The color was flattering against her pale skin- shimmery and red. It caught the light, and set to sparkling every time her muscles moved.

And of course, there were her legs.

In all the time that he had known her as more than just a casual customer at the shop to a friend and then to...something more than that, she remained faithful to her blue jeans and leggings. He knew that she had legs because he had no problem seeing the ends of the them sticking out of her pants, but for the most part, her style was not one that he would classify by utterly girly although she was supremely feminine in the most important ways. But as his eyes followed her form as she moved and bended from one corner of the stage to the other, he saw legs. Legs for days. Long and dainty. And her feet were graceful as they moved from third to fourth position. And her arms moved high above her head as though the wind itself was carrying them on gentle autumn breezes.

When the principal male lead joined her, George sat forward, and watched their interactions carefully. He trusted Livia. Implicitly. But he didn't care to extend that same courtesy to her partner. The man who, from where George was sitting, seemed to be about as tall as George was, but thicker in every possible way. And every bit of accounted for muscle. George frowned. The dancer's muscles had muscles. Wizard or not, the guy looked as though he could more than easily hold his own in a fight.

'Maybe we should sick this guy on Voldemort, and end the war quickly,' he thought to himself with a smirk, but the smirk faded away nearly as quickly as it had appeared.

Voldemort.

It was a name that George couldn't easily escape from these days, and it served to remind him of what he was supposed to be doing and where he was supposed to be going. He glanced at his watch, and frowned. Not much time left. Better to use it watching her, and not waste it thinking about Voldemort. He turned his gaze back on her, and watched as her partner lifted her, caught her, assisted her promenades, and supported her pirouettes. Her arabesques were breathtaking, her lines impressive.

Her dancing was calm and controlled, but as he carefully watched her, he knew in his heart that he had never seen her more wild. She was elegant and graceful, and beautiful in ways that George had never even considered, and he felt as though a part of him were being introduced to Livia for the first time. And maybe, in some regards, that was truth. There was a light in her eyes that he was unfamiliar with, and it poured of her fingers and her toes. As it were, he had never seen this aspect of her life in such an up close and personal way.

And it grieved him that he had to sneak into the theatre days before her opening night in order to see it. But he would rather stay away from her for days upon days in order to keep her safe. And with the Order's current mission, there was simply no way that he was going to risk her safety. Not even to see her dance on opening night. Or on any other night for that matter. Even though he knew it would hurt. For him and for her.

"Excuse me."

A soft voice nearby pulled George's attention away from the dancing on stage. A young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood watching him curiously. She chewed on her lip nervously for a moment before speaking. "I'm really sorry, but this a closed rehearsal. People aren't really allowed to peek in on these. Director's orders." George couldn't help but feel slightly irritated at the girl, but smiled at her just the same. She was clearly uncomfortable with having to be the one to tell him to leave, and it wasn't her decision. The poor thing looked as though she was tempted to run and hide rather than confront him.

"Yeah, that's all right. It's probably time that I head out anyways. But thanks...for the heads up."

At his mild praise, she smiled. He stood to his feet, took one last look at Livia who continued to dance completely wrapped up in her partner without any hint that George had been watching her. And at that thought, he grimaced. He wasn't naive enough not to realize that the whole lurking in the shadows while watching her from afar was a bit disturbing. And if Fred ever found out what he had done, he'd likely never hear the end of it.

But Harry's rescue from Privet Drive was going to be a dangerous mission. It was the sort of mission that people didn't come home from. And while all of the Order members, however young or old, were well aware of the disasterous possibilities, it was their duty. It was George's duty. And that, quite simply, was that.

But he couldn't go without seeing his girl dance first.

He politely tipped his head at the girl, and made his way towards the back doors.

"Were you here to watch Livia?" the young dancer asked, and George turned around.

"Uh, yes, actually. She's a...friend of mine."

The girl nodded. "Livia is my favorite dancer in the whole company. I could watch her all day!" she gushed, staring at Livia with adoration in her big brown eyes.

George smiled, but only half felt it. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

**July 27, 1997**

As Livia trudged the final block towards her flat, she heaved another loaded, eternally grateful that the long and somewhat exhausting day had finally come to a blessed end. It was only the second night of their two week long show, and she was more or less wiped out. But it was nothing that a good night's rest couldn't cure. The show had taken off without a hitch as the company danced before a packed house on opening night, and the second night's performance had done just as well.

Unfortunately, what resulted from the evening's endeavors were three or four bouquets of flowers that she was forced to carry home which only added to the four or five that she had received the night before. But she smiled at the thought. The audiences had been wonderful to her, and now, the scent of flowers was the first thing that she noticed every time she entered her apartment.

'Maybe I'll drop one of these off with Mr. Callahan,' she thought to herself to a tired smile. 'A man his age would probably do well to receive flowers once in a while.'

But when she felt her smile begin to pull into a familiar frown as the thought of a certain someone failing to make it to her show once again began to infiltrate her mind, she quickened her pace, eager to get home and put the day behind her.

She rounded the final corner, and took the last twenty or so steps towards her flat, unable to stop another loaded sigh from slipping past her lips. And for a split second, she hated herself. When had she become _that_ _girl_?

"Excuse me."

Livia turned around immediately, and noticed a young woman walking towards her. The streets were completely empty save for Livia and the strange girl walking towards her, but Livia was far too tired to waste any effort feeling concern. After all, the girl looked harmless enough.

"Yes?" Livia answered politely, keeping a tight hold on her parcels and flowers.

The girl stopped a few paces from her. "Are you Livia? Livia Daly?"

Livia froze. So much for the girl simply needing directions. She found herself swallowing subconsciously. "I am." And as the girl stepped closer towards her, Livia couldn't help but feel a tide of familiarity rise up between them. She had very little clue where, but she was quite certain that she had seen the girl before. The girl was commonly pretty, and didn't have the sort of face that would easily stick out of a crowd, but her slightly bushy hair was not easily forgotten.

As if sensing Livia's trepidation, the girl smiled softly. "I was told you'd be here."

"I'm sorry," Livia started. "But have we met before?" she asked without thinking, the situation suddenly becoming a tad bit too strange for her liking.

The girl shook her head. "No, we haven't. But I've seen you before. At a funeral."

And Livia's eyes widened with realization. "Dumbledore's funeral. You were there with Harry Potter!"

The girl extended her hand politely. "I'm Hermione Granger."

And Livia's eyes widened. In spite of the fact that she was a squib and therefore kept blissfully (and unfortunately) apart from the world that her parents and brother belonged in, she knew quite well the stories surrounding _the boy who lived._ And thus, she was well aware just who the girl standing before her was.

Livia shook Hermione's hand slowly, her mind still reeling from the shock. But that only lasted for a moment as reality caught back up with her, and she shook her head to clear it of its thoughts. "It's an honor to meet you, Ms. Granger..."

"Hermione, please."

Livia nodded, and mulled over her next words for a moment. "But I'm quite certain that you didn't come all this way to introduce yourself."

Hermione smiled, not at all put off by Livia's statement for which Livia was only too grateful for because of a familiar twinge of embarrassment began to creep in. She hadn't meant to be rude, but the occassion was not what she would be quick to label 'normal'.

Hermione took a moment to glance around them, and Livia immediately recognized the girl's desire for privacy. "We could go up to my flat, if you'd like," she offered, but Hermione immediately shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid we don't have time for that." And at that, Livia's stomach dropped. "You're right. I didn't come all this way to introduce myself although I have heard lovely things about you. And were circumstances different, I'm certain it would've only been a matter of time before we'd have met."

Livia's tongue suddenly felt as though it were made of lead, but she pressed her words out carefully. "What circumstances...are we in?" she asked carefully.

Hermione's brown eyes met Livia's. "Fred sent me."

At that, Livia's eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion. "Fred? Fred Weasley?" Hermione nodded. "Whatever for?"

"For George."

All at once, all of the anger and grief and frustration that Livia had directed towards George for the past week abandoned her, and all that remained was a sense of dread. "What happened?" she rushed out, bridging the gap between the two girls.

Hermione swallowed. "There was...an accident." Her voice was strangely calm, and it sounded so completely far away to Livia that, for a moment, she was tempted to wonder if this conversation was nothing more than an elaborate nightmare. Something that she would wake up from. Something that would fizzle away to nothingness as soon as dawn's first light began to creep through her drapes.

But she was unable to convince herself of that. Not when she knew only too well that this was no dream. No nightmare. No figment of her wild imagination. It was simply reality. And she would have to deal with it.

She felt Hermione's hand slip into her own, and looked up. "We have to go," was all Hermione said.

Livia vaguely heard herself ask "Go where?", but wasn't entirely certain if the words were spoken or merely thought.

"Back to the Burrow," Hermione offered, glancing around them once again. "That's where he is, and that's where Fred told me to bring you."

Livia felt her eyes fill to the brim with unshed tears. "He's...alive?" she asked, her voice barely above a gentle whisper. Quite simply, it was all she could afford.

Hermione turned to her, nodded, and smiled softly. But there were things hidden behind the smile that did not escape Livia. "Have you ever side-along apparated before?" Hermione asked, her voice low. Livia shook her head. "It can be rather unsettling," the brown haired witch offered, but Livia simply tightened her hold on Hermione's hand.

"I'll manage," she said, and Hermione nodded once.

"I'd hold my breath if I were you," she said, and at once, the two girls vanished as if they were never there to begin with.

And all that remained as a testament of their presence were three or four bouquets of flowers.

* * *

Fred watched closely as Molly and Arthur shut the door to his and George's old bedroom behind them, taking extra care to do it quietly. However, their efforts were for nothing. It was entirely unlikely that the noises caused by the shutting of a bedroom door could pull George from his sleep. Not when Dreamless Sleep Potion was involved. The poor bloke would likely not be waking for quite a few hours, and Fred sincerely hoped that was enough to circumvent greater damage.

Molly stared at a spot in the floor, but Fred knew that she wasn't really looking at it. Arthur, on the other hand, offered his son a grim but well meaning smile, and Fred appreciated it. He knew how hard it was, for the both of them, to see George in such a state. And they, in turn, knew just how hard was for him.

It was then that Molly broke the pervading silence. "My poor, poor boy." And for what had to have been the fifteenth time that evening, she choked on a sob that inevitably won in the end.

Arthur wrapped his arms around his wife, and breathed in deeply for the both of them while Fred watched, unable to say a word. "He'll be all right, Molly. You know our Georgie."

Fred nodded. "He's right, mum. You know it will take a lot more than dark magic to take him down."

And in spite of the situation, Molly smiled, knowing full well that her husband and son spoke the truth. But then her smile faded once more. "But his ear."

Fred opened his mouth to try to offer up some witty remark to diffuse the grief. Something about how George always failed to put both of his ears to good use anyways. Or maybe that having one ear would only benefit George by giving him more reason to ignore Molly. But nothing came out. Not a joke. Not a word. Not a sound.

It was then that he heard the faint but ever familiar rapping on the front door quickly followed by the sound of it opening and closing moments after. And while he had momentarily forgotten that he had privately requested a favor of Hermione, he knew without a doubt that she was the one waiting downstairs. He ran down the stairs, only remotely aware that his parents had followed.

"Did you bring her?" he called as he reached the bottom of the stairs, but no reply was needed. Hermione and Livia stood by the front door, each one watching him intently. No sooner had he taken the first two or three steps towards Livia was she crossing the gap to meet him, and rushed into his arms without a word.

"Thank you," was all he offered her, and it was all that she needed.

"Freddie dear," Molly called out as she neared the bottom of the steps, Arthur in tow. "Who was it at the...door." Fred, Hermione, and Livia all turned to face Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as they finally made their appearance.

Livia suddenly felt all too uncomfortable. There was very little chance that they remembered who she was, and even if they did, she was a veritable stranger in their home, and at the worst possible time. If she could have, she would've paled.

Fortunately, it wasn't necessary.

"Livia?" Molly asked when her senses caught up with her. Livia, on the other hand, heaved a strained sigh of relief. They remembered her. And for the tiniest of moments, which was all she could really afford, her heart melted at the thought of it. "You came all this way for George?"

Livia swallowed. "I...I had to."

Hermione stepped forward. "Fred sent me to find her."

At that, Arthur and Molly both turned to face Fred, but the other Weasley twin, the one currently _not_ in bed nursing a gaping head wound, merely shrugged. "I thought she should know. And I thought she should be here."

Livia wrang her hands nervously. "I would've b-been here sooner, but I had no idea. I..." And her voice cracked.

Molly, unable to stand it any further, crossed over to Livia, and engulfed the young girl in a warm embrace. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with tears. "Thank you for coming to see him. I know it would mean so much to him. And it means to much to all of us."

When the two of them pulled apart, Livia looked up at Arthur. "How is he?"

She noticed a twitch in his lip as he struggled to remain the strong one, and her heart began pounding in her chest.

"He...he's got quite a bump on the head." He ran a tired hand through his ginger hair, but then mustered up the effort to smile at her. "Afraid he might not recognize you, at first. Not with this hair," he said, putting his hand atop her head, much like a father would to his daughter.

Coincidentally, it was at that moment that his daughter entered the room. "Mum, did I hear Hermione?" Ginny asked as she walked in, and she immediately took notice of the only stranger in the room.

And without a bit of reservation, she made her way over to the ground, and stuck her hand out. "You must be Livia. I'm George's sister, Ginny."

It was at that moment that Livia decided that she very much liked Ginny Weasley. Despite the fact that she was the one and only daughter in a household full of sons, she retained every bit of poise and grace. And while she knew well enough from George's stories that Ginny was hardly one to underestimate, she had an honest face. Livia could certainly appreciate that. "It's lovely to finally meet you," she said, and meant it.

Ginny smiled weakly. "I do wish that the circumstances weren't what they are." Livia watched as pain crossed the young girl's features, and then vanish nearly as quickly as they had appeared. Ginny took Livia's hand in her own. "Come on. I'm sure you didn't come all this way to stay in the living room. Saint George is upstairs."

And without sparing the rest of their company another glance, Ginny Weasley led Livia Daly up the stairs.

Arthur turned to face Fred. "Are you sure that this was a good idea?" he asked softly.

Fred's eyes followed the girls until they were well out of sight before he turned back around to face his father. "Something tells me that when he comes to, he'll need to see her there."

Molly put her arm around Hermione's shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the girl's head. A quiet way to relay her gratitute for fetching Livia in the first place. And then she too looked up at Fred. "But are you sure that this was a good idea for Livia?"

At that, Fred had no reply.

* * *

It took exactly five seconds for Livia to notice that Ginny Weasley had yet to let go of her hand as they ascended the staircase. She couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit uncomfortable towards the gesture considering the fact that it hadn't even been a full two minutes before meeting the girl. However, Livia's propensity for keeping her mouth shut in awkward situations unabled her to say a word, and so she continued walking by Ginny's side as each stair gave way to another stair. And another, and another.

And still, no words had been spoken.

Fortunately, the silence didn't last very long. Or perhaps it had. The entire evening was somewhat of a blur for Livia. Had it really been only two or three hours prior that she had been dancing in front of a packed house?

"You're not at all how I imagined you."

Livia's head turned quickly. "Pardon?"

Ginny kept her eyes forward, but her words were clearly for Livia. "Your face, your voice. I don't know. Somehow, from all that George has told me about you, I had imagined you completely different." At that, Livia couldn't help but furrow her eyebrows in complete confusion, and yet somehow, Ginny remained notably calm. "Oh, no. Please don't take that the wrong way. I didn't mean it badly. Quite the opposite, actually." An amused smile crossed her features. "I suppose George did very little by way of describing you to me. To us. But I think it was his way of ensuring that we didn't get too involved. One of the downfalls of having a big family," she said with a tiny smile which Livia found was all too easy to return.

Ginny continued. "And I knew that mum and dad already got to meet you. At Dumbledore's funeral. But the day was far too hectic to keep track with everyone. I didn't even know that you were there at all until well after you were gone. And I have to admit that I was sorely disappointed that I'd missed out on meeting you." And once again, she smiled. "You see, I've heard nothing but lovely things about you. From my parents. From Fred. Even Katie and Angie." She paused, and Livia felt strongly that the girl was watching Livia carefully out of the corners of her eyes. "Especially from George."

And then, they had arrived. Livia swallowed hard as Ginny paused in front of a closed door. It looked ordinary enough considering the situation, but Livia refused to be fooled. She knew well enough that just beyond the door was something that, truth be told, she was not entirely ready for.

She felt Ginny's hand slip out of her own, and watched as the one of only Weasley daughter began her descent back down the stairs. But then, Ginny stopped, turned on her heels, and stared up at Livia in a manner quite disarming. "He cares for you so much," she said, her voice still and quiet. Then, without another word, she turned back around, and left Livia standing in front of the doorway.

Livia, in turn, gave herself no time to process Ginny's words for fear of losing track of what she was there to be in the first place. And before she had a moment to talk herself out of it, she took a steadying breath that failed to do its job, opened the door, and entered the room.

She paid very little attention to the room, but did immediately notice that it felt very much like a young boy's room. It was easy to assume that this had been the room that he and Fred had shared as children because everything within the room seemed to come in pairs. Twin drawers. Twin Quidditch posters of the exact same players. Twin chests with their respective names carved into them, each of them most likely filled with the typical things one might find in a toy chest belonging to an adolescent wizard. And as could be expected, there were twin beds.

And it was on one of those beds, the one with the shoddily carved 'G' on the headboard, that she found him.

She halted mid-step, and willed her head to stop its spinning. It was during this time that she realized a bit of crucial information. She had traveled from her flat all the way to the Burrow with Hermione Granger, who, for all of her daring exploits, was nothing more than a stranger to Livia, and did all that without knowing a shred of what had happened to George. But as she tip toed closer to him, she couldn't keep her hands from shaking when she beheld what appeared to be a substantial head wound.

The tightly wound bandages were covered in blood. His clothes were covered in blood. The right side of his head was covered in blood.

She bit back the sudden urge to vomit, but had no defenses against the tears. They fell without restraint, and dripped off of her cheeks like a calm summer rain. But there was nothing calm about the situation at hand. Nothing calm about the storm of emotions raging within her. Nothing calm about George lying on a bed covered in dried blood.

Just when she had managed to move from the door to his bed was beyond her comprehension. All she knew was that his hand was in hers, and she held on tightly for fear of what might happened if she let go.

"George," she said, her voice barely above a gentle whisper with little chance of reaching him. And then, the thin line on which she was carefully treading snapped from beneath her.

* * *

**Endnote: So there it is. Chapter eleven. Now, I know that there was a lot of stuff that happened in this chapter, but I think it was necessary. And I know what you all are thinking right this second- Livia bleached her hair? Yeah, I know! ;)**

**Now, I do understand that there are some discrepancies between the events in the chapter, and the HP novels. But bear in mind that I've labeled this story as 'Slightly AU', and I admitted early on to using certain elements from both the films and the novels to suit my purposes. So yeah, there was no mention of Aunt Muriel's home, etc. But she isn't mentioned in the film either. So for the purposes of this specific chapter, I'm using the films. But I do and will go back and forth throughout the rest of the story. Sorry if you didn't care, and this bit bored you. I just know how...passionate readers can be about the films and books!**

**Anyways, let me know what you thought. I promise that the next chapter will be much more positive. We had weddings in the future. Bill and Fleur's. Not George and Livia's. haha**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: The characters of_ Harry Potter_ are the creations and property of J.K. Rowling and related enterprises. Livia and her lot are mine.**

**Author's Note: I'm just so unbelievably overwhelmed by the amount of support and encouraging words that I've received for this story over the past week. I couldn't help but dive right into writing this chapter as soon as I uploaded chapter eleven. You all are awesome for following and reviewing so faithfully, and I really appreciate it. Since posting chapter eleven, I've received twenty reviews for EAGB, and I've so looked forward to reading all of them. So in our time honored tradition, I dedicate chapter twelve to all of you who took the time to review. This one is for you: _.heaRt, xXxepicfallxXx, quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, The Queen of Confusion, RoseblossomWarrior, andyandava, MorganMDW, Amyytje, RAWRitzvi, Vittaria, theideaofyou, _and_ HellNOKitty!_ You all are fantastic!**

**I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Let's just say there are hen parties, confessions of all sorts, weddings, wedding crashers, and a bit of the unexpected. :)**

**Now, on with the show!**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_"True stability results when presumed order and presumed disorder are balanced.  
A truly stable system expects the unexpected, is prepared to be disrupted, waits to be transformed."  
-Tom Robbins_

When George Weasley first began to see the faint stirrings of colors and shapes, he immediately and quite tranquilly supposed that he was dead. After all, he was clearly in the proverbial tunnel, and was walking, ever so calmly, towards the light at the end of it. But when the light began to change colors, and the colors began to take shape, and the shapes began to look strangely like his old bedroom, he realized that death had not yet claimed him. And in spite of his overwhelming grogginess, he was blessedly relieved.

He opened his eyes slowly, and took his time hoisting himself to a shoddy sitting position. He immediately noticed that his torn and bloody clothing had been replaced by a pair of worn pajamas. Probably a pair of Bill's. And he felt significantly fresher than he remembered. If he knew his mother at all, she had waited until he was fast asleep, and took the time to clean him up. It just seemed like something his angel of a mother would do, especially considering how bruised and bloody he had been.

And his eyebrows furrowed together. Suddenly, the thought of his sweet mother washing the dried blood from off of his hands and face while he lay sleeping the pain away turned his stomach. The things she and his father had been through all because of You-Know-Who and his lot. If George had anything to say about it, Molly Weasley would never spend another minute of her life crying over her children. But something deep in heart told him that probably was not going to be the case.

At the very least, the Order had managed to retrieve Harry safely. That had been their objective, and they had been successful despite one or two setbacks. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and pushed away any and all thoughts of Moody. There would be time to grieve over the auror when all was said and done.

George opened his eyes once more, and looked about his room. It was exactly how he and Fred left it, and remained exactly as it should. Their twin beds were still in place. The closet door was still tied up and wired, so as to discourage any unwanted visitors (i.e. Percy or Ron) from sneaking through his and Fred's belongings lest they wanted to be covered with chicken feathers and syrup. Livia was asleep in the chair beside his bed. His quidditch gear was still up against the wall in the corner.

He blinked, and backtracked much too quickly for his sensibilities. Unfortunately, he was too far gone to care. Perhaps having his ear blown off had knocked him head around a bit as well, and he was imagining that she was there. But upon softly poking her, he realized that she wasn't a phantom of his potion induced sleep. She was real. Flesh and blood real. And really there.

Before he could process what to do next, he said her name. Loudly. And judging by her reaction, he may as well have poured the bucket of syrup and chicken feathers over her head. She heaved forward, heaved backward, toppled out of the chair, and caught herself before smashing into the floor.

Her head snapped to attention, and upon first glance at him, she smiled wildly.

"You're awake!" she said, her voice relaying every bit of her excitement. "I can't believe it!"

"Livia, I..."

She cut him off, and rushed forward, putting her hand to his forehead. "Fred wasn't at all certain how long you would sleep."

"I'm not..."

But she continued on as if she didn't hear him. "Something to do with the Dreamless Sleep working differently for different people."

"How did..."

But once more, he was interrupted as her joy got the better of her. "Are you hungry? Or thirty! You must be thirsty. You've been asleep for two days. Of course you're thirsty!" She jumped to her feet, and made for the door.

"Livia," he all but shouted. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" And at that, she stopped, and turned around to face him. He immediately felt the urge to wince when he saw complete confusion etched across her face, but he sat up straighter and tried to overlook it.

"I'm here waiting for you to wake up," she offered, her voice sounding a bit pathetic to her own ears.

"No," he started. "Not just here in my room. I mean why are you here at this house? Why are you not home?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I came because you were hurt. And I had to be here in case you needed me."

George ran a weary hand over his face, and sighed deeply. "How did you even get here?" he asked quietly.

She bit her lip. "Hermione Granger."

He looked up quickly. "Come again?"

She began to wring her hands nervously. "Well, F-Fred sent her to come and fetch me when you got hurt. So she met me at m-my flat, and brought me here two days ago."

George threw his hands up. "And at what point did you, Fred, and Hermione conclude that this was a stellar idea?"

In hindsight, George would come to realize that while his intent was not to demean her in any way, his word choice and tone of voice quite helped to make it seem that way. And while Livia extended a generous amount of patience towards George on the account that he was wounded, she was not willing to be talked down to like a child.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't go bringing Fred and Hermione into this. If it hadn't been for them, I'd still be home wondering what it is I've done to make you so upset with me!"

George blinked. "Why in the world would you suppose that I was upset with you?"

"Oh, I don't know, George. Perhaps because you've been more than a bit distant lately. I couldn't get you to come to my show. I couldn't even get you to respond to my owls!"

"I told you that I would be busy!" he said in a huff.

She crossed the space between them in three or four loud steps. "With business!" she all but shouted. "Not with secret missions where your life would be put in danger. Certainly not the kind where you come back half blown to pieces!"

"Look!" he started, resisting the urge to point his finger at her. "I told you that I'd be busy with work becaues I didn't want you to worry. Worry would only lead to you wanting to be here to help out in any way that you could, and all that would accomplish would be putting you in harm's way!"

He had hoped that his words would have triggered some sort of understanding in her. Unfortunately, there was none to be had. Her eyes simply widened. "And what if you hadn't made it back?"

He leaned back against his pillows, and stared up at the ceiling. "I _did_ make it back."

Not at all assuaged by his response, Livia planted her hands on her hips. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? Because if you'd have had your way, I wouldn't have known that anything had happened till well after you were gone and buried." He was unable to stop his eyes from rolling at her unnecessary flair for theatrics, but that only served to fuel her anger. "I can see it now! I'd write Fred, and ask him 'Why is it that I haven't heard from George in well over two months?' And as per _your _request, he'd simply respond 'George is away. On business. Doing business stuff. For our business. But don't you worry. He'll get back to you as soon as he's back in town. It's not as though he's _dead_!'"

George gritted his teeth. "Look, what's done is done. I can't go back and change it. And you know what?" he said with a plastic smile. "I _wouldn't_ change it, even if I could. Not at all. I made a judgement call, and I would make the same one again. You can run and rage all you'd like, but the fact remains that I was taking part in a dangerous mission. The sort of mission where I wasn't promised a return home. And as much as it pained me to ignore your owls and keep you in the dark, it was all for your good!"

* * *

When the sounds of raised voices reached her ears, Molly Weasley glanced up at the ceiling, and shook her head. With a smirk, she turned to face her husband only to find that he too was looking up at the ceiling.

"Your son is finally awake," she said.

"My son?" he asked in confusion.

But she simply nodded. "Yes. He's my son when he's wounded and bloody, and needs me to nurse him back to health. He's your son when he's making utterly ridiculous decisions like failing to tell Livia the truth about what he's been up to!"

"Fair enough," Arthur Weasley said before returning to his _Daily Prophet._

* * *

Her eyes widened. "My good, huh?"

"Yes!" he snapped. "Your good. Everything that the Order is doing is leagues bigger than you or I. And as your boyfriend, I'm entitled to make those sorts of calls where your safety is concerned!"

He hadn't entirely planned for the word 'boyfriend' to come spilling out of his mouth so haphazardly, but considering the circumstances, the fault wasn't entirely on him. However, he wasn't at all expecting the reaction he received from Livia.

She laughed. Loudly. "Boyfriend? When did that happen?"

As it turned out, George Weasley didn't much care for being laughed at. "Oh, I don't know, Liv. Somewhere between our first date and our fiftieth snog!"

His words were clearly meant to rile her, but she refused to be baited. She simply smiled in return. "Boyfriend. Well now! That is especially interesting considering the fact that you bloody well never even told me that your brother was getting married in two days!" As she continued to speak, her volume increased, and George's eyes widened. She stomped over to his bed, and loomed over him. "Because, to me, that seems like the sort of thing that a bloke would tell his _girlfriend_!"

George spared a glance at the door, and hoped with everything within him that his parents couldn't hear what was going on. "But you know what?" she continued. "I'm willing to overlook that in light of the fact that you were participating in a search and rescue mission of which you didn't entirely anticipate returning from." The sugar sweet smile was back. "If, as my boyfriend, you're entitled to making important decisions regarding my safety, then, as your girlfriend, I'm entitled to knowing when you go rushing off headfirst into danger!"

In a dizzying rush, George threw off his covers, and shakily stood to his feet, relishing in the look of surprise in her eyes. "You know, if I wasn't so bloody in love with you, I'd enjoy watching Hagrid drag you back home!" he all but shouted.

"And if I wasn't so bloody in love with you, I'd tear your other ear off!" she yelled back.

The room fell deathly quiet as the two of them internalized exactly what had just happened. Or rather, what had just been said. George looked down at Livia. Livia, in turn, looked up at George.

"Did you just..."

"Yeah," he answered quickly. She bit her lip. "And did you just..."

"Yep," she said, just as quickly. They resumed their awkward staring until, without any warning, Livia turned on her heels, and made for the door.

George looked on in confusion. "Hang on, then," he said, and she stopped. "Where are you going?"

She turned around, and grimaced. "I'm getting your mother!" she said harshly. "She told me to come and find her once you woke up!" She opened the door. "And," she half shouted. "I'm getting you something to eat. You're looking a bit peaked!" And she slammed the door behind her leaving a rather baffled George alone to decipher just what in the world had just transpired.

Meanwhile, Livia leaned up against the shut door, and was staring quite fixedly upon a spot in the floor when she suddenly felt prompted to look to her left. Leaning up against the wall beside her stood Fred, Ron, and Ginny. They were pressed tightly as they tried their best to eavesdrop without being noticed. However, they hadn't included being found out by Livia into their equation, and they each stared at her with wide eyes.

She, in turn, couldn't help but smile. Her cheeks reddened underneath their stares as she walked past them towards the stairs, and began her descent. And her smile didn't fail or distinguish. He loved her. Was _in _love with her.

George Weasley was in love with Livia Daly. She bit her lip again.

* * *

Ron looked up and grimaced when the sounds of girlish laughter reached his ears. Unfortunately, his grimace failed to go unnoticed by his best friend or his brothers.

"Why do you keep making that face, Ron?" Harry asked from behind his cards.

Ron blinked. "What face?"

"He's right," Bill said, nursing his second firewhiskey as he studied his hand of cards. "Every time the girls are loud enough that we can hear them, your face gets all pinched."

Fred laughed. "It's definitely your 'this isn't going to end well' face."

"Well, this _isn't_ going to end well!" he said, his voice cracking. "All of the girls? Together?"

George blinked. "Yeah?"

"And all of that laughing and wine?" Ron said.

Harry looked around at the others to make sure that he wasn't missing something. "Yeah?" he offered after a moment.

"And of course, their heads'll be up in the clouds on account of the wedding tomorrow," Ron added, shaking his head nervously.

"Ron," Fred started. "Quite frankly, we haven't had enough to drink yet to be able to follow your senseless line of thought without a little help."

Ron, in turn, threw his cards down in frustration. "Am I the only one nervous about what's going on in there? What they're talking about? Or rather _who_ they're talking about?"

The group fell into silence as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on them. Unfortunately, Ron felt it necessary to delve further in. "Ginny? Fleur? Livia?" He swallowed hard. "Hermione?" The others looked around at one another only to find matching looks of panic. Harry stared off into space. Bill downed the rest of his firewhiskey. And George carelessly tossed his cards on the floor.

"He's right," he said, sighing loudly as though he'd just been told that he had five minutes left to live before the world caved in on itself. "You know they're talking about all of us."

A pregnant hush fell over the group. At least until Fred spoke up. "Wrong." And the others looked up at him eagerly. "They're talking about all of _you._ At the moment, Angelina isn't tibbling wine in Ginny's room with the rest of the girls. I'm blissfully unaccounted for!"

Another round of hysterical laughter broke out from Ginny's room, and the men, with the exception of Fred, groaned.

* * *

"And zen before I even knew what was 'appening, William was kissing me!" Fleur said dreamily as she sipped her elderflower wine.

"That's so romantic," Hermione said softly.

However, her comment only seemed to amuse Fleur. "Yes, it was until ze point zat I completely forgot what I was doing, dropped ze bag of diamonds, an' made a complete mess. Needless to say, Gringott's iz not ze best place to act on one's romantic feelings." Livia smiled appreciating the fact that she wasn't the only one who could wreak a fair bit of havoc when the occasion called for it. "I nearly lost my job. The goblins were furious. I started to cry. It was awful." And then she smiled coyly. "And so to make up for it, William took me out on a date, and spent ze evening wining and dining me." She sighed dramatically. "And from zat point on, I was...'ow do you say...'ooked!"

The girls laughed, and toasted once more before Ginny smirked wickedly. "Speaking of hooked," she glanced over at Hermione who immediately averted her eyes. "Any chance that you'll be admitting your feelings for Ron sometime this century?"

Fleur laughed loudly, but Hermione only raised an eyebrow cooly. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean. The feelings I have for Ron are of the platonic sort. Same as Harry and myself."

"But I don't theenk zat I've seen you look at 'Arry ze way you look at Ronald!"

Hermione blushed, and Livia shook her head. "Wait, I'm confused. So the two of you aren't together?" Hermione looked up and shook her head. "Oh, I just assumed. Sorry. It's just that the two of us seem very...close."

Ginny burst into laughter. "Yes, they do seem close, don't they?" she teased. Hermione's blushed furiously, and to add insult to injury, attempted to cover her cheeks with her hands as if it could undo the damage. Livia smiled at the obvious hopelessness of the situation while Ginny put her arms around Hermione's shoulders.

And while Fleur enjoyed their little game, she felt it necessary to offer Hermione a bit of a reprieve. "Alright ladies!" she said, calling attention to her as she lifted her glass of wine. "What iz ze craziest theeng you've ever done for love?"

They all laughed at the question, and then fell into silence as they looked at one another to see who would speak up first.

And in typical Fleur fashion, the bride to be straightened her back, and cleared her throat. "I pretended like I couldn't properly count in English!" The girls giggled furiously as she nodded her head proudly. "I can't even recall all of ze times I interrupted William at work just to ask him what came after _twenty_ or to remind me how to count by fives!"

"You must be joking!" Livia said, grinning like mad.

Fleur raised an eyebrow in a well practiced manner. "And might I just add that he's a wonderful teacher."

Livia laughed aloud while Hermione tried to hide her amused smile behind her hands. And Ginny simply grimaced, slightly disturbed at Fleur's insinuations.

Eager to move on, Ginny cleared her throat, making it more or less clear that it was her turn. All eyes fell on her as she spoke calmly. "The craziest thing I've ever done is kiss Harry Potter."

The three girls wore matching looks of confusion. "How is that the craziest thing you've done?" Livia asked, feeling as though she completely missed the punch line.

Ginny smirked. "Well, I was dating Dean Thomas at the time." At that, the girls all burst into hysterics. Just how much of the hysterics was due to the amount of elderberry wine being consumed, the girls didn't know, but they weren't in the frame of mind to speculate. It was Fleur's last night of singlehood, and they were determined to have a bit of fun. Ordinarily, the hen party wouldn't take place in Ginny's bedroom, but rather out and about where all sorts of fun (naughty or otherwise) could be had. But with circumstances being what they were, they simply could not risk leaving the Burrow. Not even for well mannered fun. And so, with that in mind, they let the wine pour freely, they talked about utter nonsense, and they laughed without restraint.

Ginny turned towards Hermione when her giggles had finally subsided. "Your turn, Granger!"

Hermione sat for a moment in what appeared to be deep thought before smiling shyly. Coyly. And then with a sigh, threw up her hands in resignation. Livia could almost imagine Hermione waving the metaphorical white flag of surrender.

"I hit Cormac McClaggen with a Confundus Charm during Quidditch tryouts because he was claiming that Ginny was going easy on Ron on the sole basis that he was her brother therefore implying that Ronald was not capable of playing as Gryffindor's Seeker even though that was absolutely not true!" she exclaimed, impressively enough in a single breath.

"Very nice," Livia said with a smirk.

Fleur stared at the brown haired witch with wide eyes. "Why, 'Ermione Granger, you are quite ze animal!"

Hermione's shoulders slumped in shame. "I know. I engaged another person in unnecessary violence. It isn't one of the high points in my life, I assure you!" But she couldn't help but smile when the other girls broke out into laughter, and after a moment or two, she joined in.

"And this was recently?" Livia asked with a laugh.

Hermione cringed. "Quite."

Livia's eyes narrowed. "What are you wearing to the wedding tomorrow?" There was a playful lilt in her voice. Hermione shrugged, not entirely understanding the point of the question. "Because weddings, you know, are a great reason to doll up!" And she wiggled her eyebrows shamelessly.

But Hermione just shrugged again, this time a bit hopelessly. "I don't think that would help the situation. I'm sure that Ronald wouldn't even notice. Besides," she added as an afterthought. "It's his brother's wedding. I wouldn't feel comfortable making myself up like that. It's only right that all of the attention should be on you," she said to Fleur.

But the French girl just smirked. "Oh, I 'appily give you permission."

Hermione smiled softly, but did so with a heavy sigh. Her secret was out. Her very big, very important, possibly life altering, and, at the very least, highly inappropriate secret was out. It was only a matter of time before it all got back to Ron, and at that point, her life would surely be over.

Ginny grinned at Hermione, perfectly aware of how she was feeling at the moment. She took Hermione's hand in her own. "I hear that confession is good for the soul," she said softly. "And it certainly isn't as though you would have trouble getting him to return your sentiment," she said with a teasing smile. But then her smile faded, and her eyes suddenly took on a serious shine. "Ron would take the killing curse for you. Every day until forever if it meant your safety and happiness. You know that, right?"

Hermione felt the back of her eyes begin to sting with tell tale tears, but she ushered them away. Sentimentality simply wasn't her forte. Rationality and logic were. Still, hearing those words, from Ginny of all people, did seem to make her heart feel a bit lighter.

She finally gave in, and heaved a sigh of relief before turning to face Livia. "All right. Your turn. What's the craziest thing you've ever done for love?" The remaining girls turned to face Livia with curious expressions and wide eyes as she contemplated her answer.

And when she figured it out, she looked up. "This one time, I walked away from the role of principle dancer in my company's show. Basically, something I've worked towards for years. And I...I didn't exactly go about it the right way. Sort of just bolted without telling them," she said with a laugh.

"What 'appened after?" Fleur asked.

"Well, my role went to my understudy. Something I'm sure she appreciated. And since I didn't 'behave responsibly' when I _abandoned my post_, I got...kicked out of my company." She shrugged after a moment's quiet. "They were a bit strict about that sort of thing. I...guess I brought on myself."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "How is that the craziest thing you've done for love?"

"Well, I...I walked away from the show for this guy," Livia said, finishing off her glass of wine.

Fleur sighed romantically. "Why?"

There was a quiet beat before she spoke up again. "Well, you see, the guy...this guy got hurt." She paused once more. "Got his ear blown off actually." At that, Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur caught each other's eyes. Livia, on the other hand, was staring into her empty glass, her face suddenly quite serious. And the amount of wine consumed certainly didn't help. "You know how in movies, there's that scene where the son gets into a horrible car accident, and you have to watch his mother hear about it from the police?" Her eyes glistened up. "It sort of felt like that. I mean, here was this guy that sort of just fell into my life when I wasn't even looking for him, and then all at once, I was faced with the very real possibility that he was going to disappear."

She choked on a sob. "I'd worked so hard to get that role, and to make everything perfect because it was what I wanted more than anything. But then one day, I stupidly crashed into a total stranger at a joke shop, and out of nowhere, I just sort of knew that he was the only one that I wanted to crash into forever. And just like that, I didn't care about dancing or about what my director would think or do. I just needed to be here. To see him. To make sure that he didn't...slip away."

Perhaps the silence only last seconds. Maybe minutes. It could have been hours. But Livia didn't look up till she felt a hand slide into her own, and she met Ginny Weasley's tearful eyes.

"I'm so glad you're here, Livia," she said softly. "For the wedding. In our lives. With George."

Fleur and Hermione agreed in their own particular ways which only led to a rather childish pout from Livia. Unfortunately, what the pout led to was a wine induced group hug where each girl managed to get both arms around someone else while, impressively, maintaining hold of her wine glass.

But it all came to a crashing halt when Fleur threw her hands up and demanded silence to which the girls immediately complied. "Wait a minute," she hushed. Her expression was that of sudden concern, and the other girls had no choice but to follow suit. "What are movies? And what on earth iz a car?"

At first, there was a barely concealed giggle from Livia who hid it behind her hand, and attempted to pass it off as a cough. Coincidentally, Hermione was sipping politely at her wine, but when Livia's cough-giggle reached her ears, she choked on her drink. It was seconds later when Ginny and Livia burst into a round of hysterics, and seconds after that when Fleur and Hermione joined in.

* * *

Livia couldn't help but smile as she looked at her reflection in Ginny's mirror. While she had never cared an exhorbitant amount about personal appearances, she couldn't deny the fact that she quite liked the way that she looked at the moment. The girls had certainly made an _evening _of their evening, and she felt as though she were running on the last drudges of sleep she had managed to muster before Molly barged in, and demanded that the girls begin getting ready. After all, a wedding would wait for no man. Or woman. And so, with matching groans that screamed of semiconsciousness, the girls pulled themselves out of bed, and began the arduous task of getting ready.

But after taking her shower, Livia was pleased to note that, in a magical household, getting ready was a much simpler task than she expected. Her worries that the lack of electricity, and thus a hairdryer, would only slow the process down, but a quick drying spell uttered by Hermione had all of the girls ready for hair and make up. Fortunately, that was a relatively simple task as well. A charm, spoken by Ginny, seemingly brought her hair to life, and Livia watched in unbridled delight as her hair began to bend and curl, wrap under, and loop through. And by the end of the affair, her blonde hair maintained a graceful wave to it with half of it up and held tight in a beautifully intricate knot.

Applying make up took similar effort, and before long, all of the girls were ready for dresses. Livia immediately paled upon rememberance of the fact that she had nothing with her that she could deem appropriate for a wedding. But Fleur, who was much more aware of the heights of fashion than Ginny or Hermione, circled around Livia in careful inspection, taking note of things like Livia's height, bone structure, and her overall color. When she was satisfied enough, she cast a spell that Livia hadn't heard before, but had to be some of the most beautiful magic that she had ever seen. That, of course, was taking into account the fact that Livia hadn't seen very much magic.

But she watched in wide eyed amazement as the blouse and jeans she had worn the night before began to twist and morph into something new entirely. Her skin felt warm and so wonderfully tingly as magic began to take root in the very stitches of her outfit, and she silently thanked her stars for allowing her such a rare moment to feel so unlike a squib.

By the end of the ordeal, Fleur nodded her head, obviously pleased with her handiwork, and went back to working on herself. Livia, however, was too busy looking at her reflection. And it was in that same place, in front of the mirror, that she wandered back to an hour later. Ginny and Hermione had gone downstairs to help with any last minute touches that Molly might require while Fleur went to find her newly arrived parents and sister. Livia was completely alone. And because she was completely alone, she felt less embarrassed when all of her excitement bubbled over past her breaking point, and she twirled, rather childishly, in front of the mirror and reveled in the sight of her dress flowing around her.

It was a beautiful cranberry red that worked well against her creamy skin, and it fell just above her knees. A good sized bow sat high up on her stomach, and pulled the dress in around her as it met her curves, but certainly didn't squeeze them. Initially, Livia had felt a little more exposed than she was accustomed to when she took in the sleeveless and strapless nature of the dress. But then her words to Hermione just hours before rang in her head. Weddings _were_ a great reason to doll up. So while the dress was so unlike her, she would exercise daring and bare her shoulders. And it was with that resolve that she finally pulled away from the mirror, and made the trek downstairs to find everybody else.

Or rather, to find George. And if she knew him at all, she figured the best place to start would be the kitchen. However, as she neared the kitchen, it wasn't George that she met with first.

"Hey, Ginny," she said as the youngest Weasley came out of the kitchen. The red head looked up at her, and smiled nervously before shuffling past her leaving a curious Livia in her wake. But she just shook her head, chalking it up to witch problems, and continued into the kitchen.

Fortunately, her instincts on George had been correct. He was, in fact, standing in the kitchen. But he wasn't alone. And suddenly, Livia felt more distinctly that she had missed something. A rather big something if she could judge at all by the uncomfortable tension between George and Harry as they stared at one another. George was sporting a very familiar smirk, but upon further inspection of Harry, Livia couldn't help but be reminded of a cornered mouse. Inevitably, the stare broke, and Harry exited the kitchen with what could only be called _haste_.

Livia's eyebrows furrowed as she watched him leave. Or rather, retreat.

"Care for some tea?" George asked with a laugh on his voice as he dragged her out of her current train of thought. She turned to face him, and smiled.

"Absolutely."

He handed her a fresh cup of hot tea, and watched as she took her spot next to him against the countertop. A pleasant hush fell between them. The sort of hush that was bound to occur when the 'L' word had been spoken. But neither of them were quite up to the task of talking about that particular situation. They chose instead to look awkardly at one another and laugh. The time would eventually come when they would be forced to confront the situation, but that time was not today.

After a moment, Livia caught sight of something rather peculiar, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you aware that there is a toothbrush sticking out of where an ear used to be?"

"Absolutely," he said easily as he sipped his tea. And she just nodded her head. Of course there would be a toothbrush in what remained of his ear. Why wouldn't there be?

After a moment's pause, George looked down at Livia who was staring distractedly into her teacup. "Did you know that Harry is snogging my sister?" he asked with a smirk.

"Absolutely," she responded, just as easily, and his smirk stretched into a smile. After a moment's pause, she looked up at him, and watched as he sipped at his tea.

"Did you know..."

"That Hermione _wishes_ that she were snogging my brother?" he said, interrupting her. "Absolutely."

She couldn't help but laugh at the curious wizard standing beside her, and when the laugh dissipated, she gave in to her instincts, moved closer beside him, and leaned her head against him. He, in turn, looked down, and felt the corners of his mouth turn up. Without a word, he kissed the top of her head, and inhaled deeply. Gardenia.

After a long moment, she looked up at him. "Do you think..."

"That you are the most stunning creature that has ever existed, and that you look completely gorgeous right now?" he said smoothly. "Absolutely."

Her pale cheeks turned a familiar shade of soft pink as she blushed furiously, her eyes staring unreservedly at his own. And he was suddenly overtaken by the urge to press his lips against hers.

But after a pause, she simply smirked. "Actually, I was going to ask if you thought that it'd be a good idea to go find your parents, and see if they needed anymore help." And she laughed in spite of herself.

George Weasley smiled and raised an eyebrow in a manner than was haughty, and completely irresistible. "Absolutely not."

It was in a comfortable silence that the two of them finished their tea. It was also in a comfortable silence that his hand sought hers.

* * *

**August 1, 1997**

Impressively enough, the wedding went off without a hitch which was a feat none too welcomed for all parties involved. The road leading up to the blessed occasion had been a bumpy one considering Molly's initial dislike of Fleur, Bill's injury at the hands of Fenrir, and the slight hiccup that was Harry's rescue. But when the wizard presiding over the ceremony declared them bonded for all of life to come, and Bill Weasley kissed his new bride for the first time, Livia could easily discern the sounds of Molly and Madame Delacour's weeping over the din of applause. And she smiled. It felt wonderful to think that, for a moment, all of the troubles brewing within the world had fizzled away to make room for love.

Livia, of course, knew that wasn't necessarily the case, and that just outside of the wedding marquee, evil was still lurking. But it was so hard to see it when all around her was nothing but smiles and kisses and magic and tears of joy. And although she had attended one or two weddings before, they paled in comparison to the one that she was currently enjoying. She was also quite convinced that she had never seen anything more beautiful. Between magical showers of stars, and birds of paradise, and the look on Bill's face when he beheld Fleur for the first time, and the look on Fleur's face when Bill proudly declared 'I do', Livia Daly was certain that the wedding was like nothing she had ever experienced.

She looked up at George who stood beside her, and smiled widely. The look of fierce pride on his face as he watched his newly married brother parade around the dance floor with his beautiful arm on his arm warmed her heart. She knew George Weasley to know that he was watching the scene with a sure sense of gratefulness in his heart. Gratefulness for being spared long enough to witness the occasion, and to be there with his family. To think that the curse needed only to move an inch or two to the left, and the day would've been marked with a funeral instead of a wedding. A marking of death instead of a celebration of life and love. And it chilled Livia to think so.

But a wedding was no place to think on such things, so she gladly shook the thoughts from her mind, and joined in the applause with the rest of the guests as Bill tipped down to meet Fleur's lips.

Molly and Arthur approached, faces flushed with excitement and pure, unadulterated joy.

"George dear," Molly started, taking his chin in her hands which was a bit of a feat considering the sizable difference in height between the two. "Make my heart happy, and spin me around that dancefloor like you did when you were young!" George laughed, kissed her cheek, and all too happily obliged while Livia watched, an unbidden smile on her face. Arthur laughed aloud at the sight before turning to face her.

"Why don't we go show those two bats how it's done?" he asked, extending his hand to her. She laughed, and curtseyed, only too happy to join him. And before long, they squeezed past the necessary bodies, and planted themselves right beside George and Molly.

"I've got to hand it to you, Georgie," Arthur said. "Your Livia is an excellent dancer."

"Why. thank you, Mr. Weasley," Livia answered with a smile on her voice.

"I wouldn't let that go to your head, Liv," George teased. "Dad's measurement for excellent dancing is seeing how many times he can step on his partner's toes before she starts to scream in pain."

Arthur laughed. "Sad to say it's true although I have gotten better over the years. Right, Molly?"

"Of course you have, daddy," she answered back, rolling her eyes playfully at George.

"Fortunately," Livia started. "Years of dancing on my toes till they're bloody and raw have prepared me for such an occasion. So feel free to step on my toes, Mr. Weasley. There won't be any screaming from me."

Once again, Arthur laughed. "I like this one, George. Knows how to keep us with us!" And then he looked at Livia. "And it's Arthur, please." He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but return it feeling much to at ease in the moment to offer any sort of protest. And so she nodded once.

It was a wonderfully peaceful moment that the four of them settled into, and George found himself immensely pleased with the picture set before him. Bill married. Charlie actually around, and laughing as goodnaturedly as ever. His mother in his arms. Fred charming a group of Fleur's Veela cousins (and doing it without the use of magic). Ron burning holes into the back of Viktor Krum's head as he twirled around the dance floor with Hermione, the whole scene bringing to George's remembrance the Yule Ball. Ginny was smiling flirtingly at a red-headed and polyjuiced Harry. The whole scene was blissful and perfect.

Well, not entirely perfect. It had pained Molly deeply when Percy declined the invitation to attend his oldest brother's wedding, and it pained George to see his mother so distraught. It also pained him to think that his brother cared more about his position in life and his current alliances than his own family. The whole thing left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But there wasn't anything that he could do about it at the moment. In the deepest parts of his heart, he had faith in Percy. Faith that he would eventually come to his senses, and take his rightful place by his family's side.

"Oh, Livia," Arthur's voice penetrated George's thoughts. "I've been meaning to ask you something vitally important. Rodeo clowns. I can't quite wrap my head around them. From what I understand about clowns, there is an element of humor involved, but there doesn't seem to be anything funny about death by raging bull. And in terms of clowns in general, what is the appeal? Is it their awful face paint? And why do they wear such enormous shoes? Surely, they can't help in terms of balance. And also, what exactly is a rodeo?"

"All right, daddy," Molly said, yanking him away from a wide eyed and slack jawed Livia. "Give the poor girl some room to breathe, and step on my toes for a while." She winked at Livia.

His initial intent momentarily off of his mind, Arthur kissed his wife's hand, and bowed before her respectfully before seizing her up against him, and whisking her away. Livia laughed at the peculiarity of it all.

That is, she did laugh until George turned to face her with a roguish look in his eyes, and she felt quite suddenly that her stomach was full of butterflies currently waltzing in their own special way. He took her hand in his and pulled her against him.

"So have you had quite enough of this wedding?" he said wiggling his eyebrows.

She laughed. "I don't think so. I'm having a lovely time."

"As am I. A lovely time, indeed. But you know what would be even lovelier?"

"What?" she asked excitedly, playing along with his little game.

"Sneaking back behind the house, and snogging till our hair stands on end!"

She promptly burst into a fit of laughter before placing his had on her waist, curling her right arm around his neck, and taking his remaining hand in her own. Before he had a chance to resist, the two of them were swaying in a wonderful rhythm. "See, I would, but I don't want this dress to get all sullied and wrinkled. And I rather like my hair tonight. Something that doesn't happen much too often, and so before you go suggesting things that'll make my hair stand on end, take a moment to consider the fact that I'll probably never look this put together again! Ever!"

Her eyes drifted shut on their own accord when he bridged the gap between them, and kissed her soundly. She could feel his sturdy shoulders rising and falling with each blissful breath, and she sighed heavily. At some point, the two of them had ceased their swaying, but neither of them could spare the sense to notice.

However, both of them had sense to spare when a burst of light broke through the top of the marquee tent, and landed in the middle of the dancefloor. All of the music ceased, and all of the laughter died. Livia and George broke apart, and drew their immediate to the patronus.

"The ministry has fallen." George immediately recognized the voice as Kingsley Shacklebot, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that life, as he knew it, was about to be turned upside down.

And violently so.

"The minister of magic is dead." A fearful murmur arose from the wedding guests as the news struck them hard. The minister dead was dead. And every single person under the sound of Kingley's disembodied voice wondered 'how could this have happened?'.

"They are coming." Livia felt George's hand grasp hers frantically, and as if on instinct, she moved into him seeking what little refuge he could offer. And through the suit that he wore, through the skin underneath it, and through the bones in his chest, she could feel his heart pounding.

She looked up him, her eyes wide with terror. "They?" George swallowed hard.

"They are coming," the voice said in a loaded whisper screams of horror and pain could be heard from within the ball of light. George's grip on her hand tightened painfully. And her heart skipped a frenzied beat.

As if on cue, the crowds erupted into chaos and movement, every person trying to locate their party and disapparate before the time came when they wouldn't be allowed to. But for Livia, everything seemed to move as if in slow motion. Her eyes drifted over to Bill and Fleur who held each other tightly, whispering last minutes words of love and promises to stay together, to stay safe.

And then, _they_ arrived. Deatheaters. Livia watched in unrestrainded fear as flames began to travel up and down the lengths of the marquee walls, some of it creeping onto the beautifully set table tops.

Somehow, in the midst of all of the commotion, Livia's hand was wrenched away from George's, and she watched as he was pushed further away from her by the scores of people trying to escape with their very lives. She attempted to move with the crowds, but found herself immobile, her legs suddenly filled with lead. And instead of moving away from the deatheaters moving ever close, her knees gave way beneath her, and she fell in a crumpled heap.

She did her best to cover her head, and shut her eyes tightly, hoping against all hope that when death came, and it inevitably would, it would take her swiftly. However, it was not death reached out to grab her. It was a hand. A hand that wrapped itself around her own, and began the arduous task of pulling her off of the floor.

Livia's eyes shot open. "George!" she exclaimed, but immediately noticed that she was wrong in her assumptions. Large grey eyes stared back at her. Eyes that she might've described as dreamy were they not so filled with fear and concern. Livia stood to her foot as the girl with the bright yellow dressrobes helped her to stand, and while everything around them was falling apart at the seams, Livia found a second to take note of the sunflower pinned to the girl's long blond hair. Livia had met the girl earlier although her name was escaping her. Luna something or other.

"Thank you," Livia rushed as Luna tried her best to smile at her before she ran off to join a man who, by their shared features, Livia guessed was her father. The two of them disapparated seconds later.

The whole interlude had taken mere seconds, but Livia felt as though it had happened over the course of long minutes, and when she turned her head to search for George, she saw him struggling against the crowds to reach her. A moment later, they were reunited as his eyes quickly raked over in order to detail any injuries, and when he was satisfied, they too began to run. He whipped his wand around smartly, and did his best to keep their path clear on deatheaters bent on destruction. And they stopped running when they finally reached his family.

"Harry?" Molly asked George, her eyes wide with fear. She knew just who the deatheaters were after. Everyone knew.

"He's gone," Arthur shouted as he reached the group, wand at the ready. "Saw him escape with Ron and Hermione." Molly's eyes watered in response, but she held them at bay, and simply nodded. Arthur turned around to face the dwindling group of wedding guests and the offending deatheaters. Of all of the disasters that he had expected would occur on the day of his oldest son's wedding, this had not been one of them. He watched as terrified guests began to choke out answers to the barrage of questions being hurled at them by the deatheaters. 'So that's why they're here,' he thought to himself. He turned back to face his family. "It's an interrogation," he said quietly. "Keep close together, and mind what you say about Harry or the others. He was never here." They all nodded.

And in what appeared to be a blur to Livia, men in withered black robes were questioning the Weasley family about their relationship with Potter and his current whereabouts. Arthur remained stone faced as he answered their questions with false information and just the right amount of trepidation. But Livia couldn't help but wonder if the trembling in his voice was all pretend, or if she wasn't imagining the fear behind his eyes.

When the deatheaters were more or less satisfied, they moved on to the next group of people leaving the Weasleys alone to heave sighs of relief. Livia, however, kept her eyes firmly fixed on the deatheaters. While she had heard plenty about them growing up, she had never, in her life, layed her eyes on one, and she never cared to again. Her hands shook in fear, and she clasped them behind her back in a sad attempt to keep them still.

"Wait a bloody minute!" someone shouted, and everyone one still within the marquee quieted. George watched as the only werewolf among the deatheater's party began to sniff the air. He could easily tell that the creature was a werewolf, but knew that it wasn't Fenrir. Perhaps one of his pack, but not the wolf himself, and for that, George was grateful. If it had been, there would be no telling what Bill would have done. "I smell..." The wolf sniffed the air again. "Muggle blood."

George's stomach dropped.

"It's probably just one of these filthy mudbloods," a nearby deatheater said, his lips pulled into a disgusted sneer.

But the wolf just shook his head. "No, not muggleborn." And then, without warning, his eyes fell on Livia. "Muggle."

Her breath hitched as all of the deatheaters, as one, turned to face her.

The werewolf smiled widely, his sharpened incisors catching her attention. "What do you know," he laughed. "It's dinner and a show." Without warning, he charged forward, and bared down on her. Somewhere, a scream was heard. As if on instinct, George pushed her behind him, and raised his wand, fully prepared to kill. But the time didn't come.

Remus Lupin stepped quickly, and the approaching werewolf pulled to a hasty stop, growing as he did it. "She has no quarrel with you," Lupin said sternly. "So I would highly suggest that you turn around, and leave her be."

The werewolf, in turn, sniffed the air around Remus once, and then narrowed his eyes. And George realized that the werewolf could easily tell just who...and_ what_ he was talking to.

"Well, your suggestion has been duly noted," the werewolf said with a malicious grin. Then his eyes traveled from Lupin's back to Livia's. "Unfortunately, I love muggle blood almost as much as Lord Voldemort hates it."

In the blink of an eye, he pounced, shoving Remus out of the way and into a nearby table as he made his way towards the group of Weasleys, and thus, towards Livia.

"Dad!" George shouted, and as if set to snap, Arthur Weasley grabbed Livia's arm in his, and for the second time in her entire life, she felt the gut wrenching pull on her stomach, typical of a side-along apparation.

* * *

Moments later, she came in contact with hard cobblestone streets, and fell hard to her knees.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, hoisting her up roughly, and setting her against the nearby wall. She nodded quickly, all the while trying to keep her head from spinning. Hermione was right. Holding her breath did make the trip much more bearable and much less traumatic. Unfortunately, the whole thing had happened so fast that she had no time to think much less breathe. "I gather you can find your way back from here?" he asked propeling her to open her eyes.

Hanging above her head was the familiar sign for the _Leaky Cauldron_. She was back in Diagon Alley, and just a few short steps from muggle London. She could find her way home from here in the dark.

She looked at Arthur, and nodded once more.

"Right then," he said, as he turned away from her to apparate back to his family.

She took a wobbily step forward. "Thank you!" she blurted into the night, her voice bouncing off of the brick walls beside them.

He turned around to face her, and smiled weakly. "Mind yourself on the way home, and get there fast." And in the blinking of an eye, he was gone.

She sighed heavily as she made her way towards the stone wall that separated the wizarding world from her own. And for the first time in a long time, she found herself grateful for her squib status. For all of the beauty and magic and absolute charm the wizarding world had to offer, there was also untold evil that lay bubbling beneath the surface, and it seemed as though you couldn't have one without the other. You couldn't have the beauty without the pain. Perhaps her world was sadly lacking where magic and mystery were concerned, but it was also lacking in a very specific sort of darkness.

Her eyes filled to the brim with tears as she felt fear take over. Fear for George. For his family. For Bill and Fleur's new life together. For Harry, Ron, and Hermione. For the grey eyed blonde girl and her father. So the selfless man that had stepped out and faced a werewolf for her. And the more she dwelt on the fear that was slowly creeping into her and arresting all of her faculties and sensibilities, the more helpless and hopeless she felt. What was going to happen to George? To them? To everyone and everything?

Yes, she had told Arthur that would head straight home, but she felt herself running in a different direction. Away from the Leaky Cauldron. Away from London, and home, and safety. There was somewhere else she needed to be. Someone she needed to see.

It was a bit of run to get to where she was going, but the streets were empty, and the going was easy. And before she knew it, she was looking at a bright red door. Without a moment's pause, she began banging on the door. And she didn't stop banging until the door swung open.

"Livia?" Mr. Daly exclaimed, taking in the sight of his one and only daughter panting and heaving at his door. "What in the world are you doing here?"

She ran past him without a word, and ran deeper into the house. It took her no time to locate her mother who was busy attending to some light sewing. But when Livia burst into the room, she stood up quickly. "Livia? Why are..."

But she was briskly interrupted as Livia erupted into sobs, crossed the space between them, and threw herself into her mother's arms. Mrs. Daly, in turn, fell completely still. The room was silent save for Livia's choking cries as she fisted her mother's nightgown in her hands. Mr. Daly watched without a word. He watched as his wife stared in bewilderment at the girl clinging to her as if holding onto dear life. He watched as his wife slowly, so slowly, brought her hands up, and carefully placed them on their daughter's back. He watched as his wife looked up at him, her eyes full of questions.

Hurried footsteps reached their ears as Declan entered the room. "Hey!" he whined. "What is _she_ doing here? I thought she..."

"Quiet, Declan!" Mr. Daly all but shouted. At once, Declan closed his mouth, his eyes wide with shock. "Go back to your room this instant!" And all that was seen of Declan Daly was the back of his pajamas as he turned on his toes, and raced up the stairs.

Mr. Daly turned back around to find that his wife and daughter were in exactly the same spot. Livia was still heaving heart wrendering cries. For what or for whom, Mr. Daly had no idea. But it unsettled him. Mrs. Daly, in turn, had taken to rubbing Livia's back softly, her hands moving in an unfamiliar pattern. Unfamiliar because the last time she had rubbed her daughter's back in comfort was when she was eight, and had been teased mercilessly about her lack of magical abilities by a group of young neighborhood wizards. At that point, Mrs. Daly was still under the impression that her daughter would still grow up to be a first class witch. Unfortunately for both mother and daughter, that dream never became a reality. The comforting words and back rubs stopped soon after.

Mr. Daly found himself moving towards the pair, and stopped when he reached them. He was prepared for a great many things when he finally joined his wife's side. But he wasn't prepared for the look in her eyes when she finally gazed up at him. Concern. Motherly concern. And pain. For their daughter. Such as he hadn't seen in a very, very long time.

She tore her eyes away from her husband's, and settled them back on Livia. And as if moved by a force outside of herself, Mrs. Daly raised a shaky hand, and allowed it to hover above her daughter's head before she gave in, and began running her fingers through Livia's messy hair.

Livia cried harder.

* * *

**Endnote: So there it is. Chapter eleven. I know it was waaaay packed, but I didn't feel it appropriate to end it anywhere else. It just wouldn't have felt complete. Thank you all for pushing through it. Now, see that little review button down below? Hit it! And then let me know what you thought! **

**See you all soon!  
-V.**


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